Decided to update again! Today has not been my day though, I hate being sick. But I decided to not think about it and keep myself occupied! I had difficulties writing this chapter but somehow managed but if it is complete crap I apologize in advance. This is seriously the longest time I have ever stuck to writing something! As usual comments and all that jazz are greatly appreciated (: I'll do my best to update whenever possible! Enjoy!

"Where were you Enjolras?" This was the first question that was thrown at him as he stepped into the back room of the café. It was Courfeyrac who had asked, but the others were anxious to know as well. Bahorel, Feuilly, Combeffere, Joly, Lesgle and Jehan all had their eyes trained on him, waiting for an explanation. Grantaire was seated further away and was smiling down at his presumably empty glass of wine, but looked up every few seconds at the commotion.

"I went for a walk to clear my head." Enjolras stated. Personally he had never been a good liar, but managed to still feel confident after he spoke. He wandered back to the table where he had left in hurry only an hour before. The chair was left pushed out and the wallet still remained where it had been tossed by Gavroche next to his unfinished speech.

"You left in such a hurry my friend, we couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong." Joly's voice trailed off and Enjolras knew that he was still looking for a better answer.

"Nothing was wrong. I just had the sudden urge…"

"To dash out of here and go running off into the street?" Combeffere interrupted him, "If you tried to leave unnoticed you did a rather unsuccessful job of it. You nearly pushed me over in your haste." He raised the glass in his hand at him, then laughed loudly as a few of the others joined in.

"I apologize," Enjolras found himself trying to begin again, "but really all…"

"He has been disappearing a lot this past week hasn't he?" Lesgle turned to Joly, who feigned interest while trying to hide a smirk.

"Maybe he's trying to hide something." Feuilly piped in.

"Or someone." Bahorel interjected, "Could it be that Enjolras has found a new mistress at last?" He placed his chin on his hand, raised an eyebrow, and gave Enjolras such a serious look that nearly everyone else in the room had burst in fits of laughter.

"Someone other than his beloved Patria? Whoever the lucky girl is, she must be quite phénoménal in order to replace such a Maîtresse as Patria." Courfeyrac shouted above the amusement of the room.

"Is she a brunette or a redhead?" Joly called out.

"Is she petite or is she buxom?" Bahorel joined in.

Almost like the night before, the entire room came to life filled with laughter and the rowdiness of the young men who occupied it. None of them for one minute believed in what they were saying was true. They saw their leader in an almost flawless light; perfect without any faults and who could forgo certain temptations and for that they respected him. What they were saying was all in good fun, or what they thought was fun.

Jehan suddenly rose to his feet and jumped up on a table, "A sonnet for Enjolras and his mistress." Bowing exaggeratedly he began, "What woman? What girl? With such charm and beautiful curls could have stolen the heart of Enjolras? What shape, what size, what eyes could have stolen the heart of Enjolras? But alas something is amiss! Whatever has happened to his dear Patria?"

"That is quite enough." Enjolras forced his voice to go above the fits of laughter and cheers. He knew they were teasing and only trying to get a rise out of him, but it was starting to anger him.

Jehan slowly climbed down from the table with the ghost of a smile on his lips while the others applauded him. The laughter and merriment soon died away as they saw the darkly, enigmatic expression on the face of their friend. Perhaps it was not the best of nights to make plaisanteries. Especially after they had witnessed his argument with Marius who still had not returned, and who they were certain may not be back for the rest of the night.

The others soon separated into their small groups, consisting of twos and threes, while Enjolras once more was sitting alone feeling conflicted. Every now and then one or two of them would catch his eye and after a moment of staring curiously at him, they would look down unsure of what to think. No doubt they would forget about this tomorrow, Enjolras thought to himself, they always did. He stared down intently at the speech he had started earlier after the incident with Marius. Reaching down he grabbed it and brought it closer to study the hurriedly written scrawls. After a moment, the words soon all blurred together into a chaotic jumble. He crumpled it up in his fist. Later that night, when he found himself being the last one to leave the café, he threw it into the gutter.

"No! No! Do not take him away from me monsieur! Not my little Jacques!"

A small multitude had gathered in the street, outside of a small establishment. A fatigued and gaunt looking young woman, pleaded desperately to two men who stood with her on the top step. She clung to the sleeve of one of the men who held what appeared to be a bundle of shabby blankets in his arms. The other man gently pulled her away; she soon collapsed, weeping uncontrollably, as the forlorn and tired looking man with the bundle in his arms made his way down the steps. The crowd parted instantly as he passed and made his way to a cart with a canvas pulled over the top. It was no secret what the cart carried. Disease had claimed another victim. This time a child.

Mariélle watched the wretched scene play out in front of her. The woman now lay in a crumpled heap, the man, possibly her husband, wrapped his arms around her tightly as her weeping turned into shrieks. She was no stranger to death; her mother had been put into a similar cart the day she had died, carried away by those who dealt with bereavement every day. There had been no looks of pity or soft spoken words of compassion. They simply had carried her mother away and departed. Unable to watch any longer, Mariélle quickly turned away.

It had been a week since Amélie had gone through her bad spell. She appeared much better, but still was very weak and remained confined to the room on Mariélle's strictest orders. But still she was getting thinner, her face paler, and that ever present cough was consuming her. She could not endure it if Amélie was taken away from her, she was certain that with her sister's death, she could no longer be able to survive. What life could there be if everyone she had shared it with, had left? But still she continued on living and working almost mechanically day after day.

Every now and then her mind would wander back to the night Enjolras had escorted her home. It was one of the few times that someone, especially a man, had been kind to her. Most other men she could not stand, including the ones at the dress shop. Especially Adrien. When Madame was not tormenting her, Adrien was. He was Madame's nephew and the one who presumably would inherit the business if she became deceased. When he wasn't shouting at her, he was pointing out anything he deemed to be a mistake. A trait unfortunately he shared with his aunt. He was a cruel young man and she knew he enjoyed her humiliation. Day after day he was there and day after day she did her best to keep her mouth shut and from saying something she would later regret.

But thankfully today she could go without his taunts. Thinking of this, she smiled and almost instantly her mood became lighter. The sun was shining in the azure sky above and the horrific scene she had witnessed was soon placed further back in her mind. She soon found herself wandering along the Rue Saint-Michel, and passing by children who ran around like little heathens, and men and women alike hurrying about with errands. A few disreputable individuals clung to the shadows of the buildings, one cleaning his fingernails with a knife, scanned the passerby's for possible victims. She made sure not to catch his eye.

Mariélle soon was across the street from the café. This time a great crowd was gathered and she could barely see what was going on. But, a cheerful feeling arose in her as she saw who they were listening to. This time Enjolras was standing on a small platform made of crates, slightly above everyone else, as if he was on his own stage. His speech was very similar to what it had been the very first time she had heard it. But still his ability to enliven the people in front of him was remarkable. His gestures were very animated, and his voice loud and clear.

"Very talented is he, no?"

A soft, yet slightly strained voice tore Mariélle's eyes away from Enjolras' speech. A girl about her own age, stood with a small smile by her side. Her dark hair appeared unkempt and was tangled about her shoulders, the tattered dress she wore was filthy with dirt and grime from the streets, and large brown eyes stared at her from beneath long lashes. Despite her unclean appearance, she was pretty in an evocative way and Mariélle smiled back. "Oui," She replied.

"Handsome too, I suppose. His friend is more so though." Mariélle followed the girl's eyes to a freckled young man who stood near him. The expression on the girl's face saddened fleetingly, before she smiled again, "But no woman from what I have heard has ever won his heart. He lives for liberty and that alone. The revolution is what he exists for. I have never known anyone driven by such obsession." She remarked before turning back to Mariélle.

"It appears that way." Mariélle answered glancing back at him slowly with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. "But he is right. Something must be done."

The girl nodded and stuck out her hand, "My name is Éponine."

Mariélle shook it and responded "Mariélle."

For a few moments longer the two girls watched the speech, until it had ended with the cries for freedom. Today Mariélle noticed that the crowds were more fervent and enthusiastic, she even felt that way too. She observed him as his eyes wandered over the crowd, looking almost triumphant. This time his eyes caught hers. For a moment he continued staring at her, with a strange, almost conflicted expression before quickly looking away. Mariélle too did the same.

"Don't be fooled by his charm, it only exists for his cause. I know a thing or two about caring for someone who doesn't want you," Éponine looked from her to the ground before resting her eyes on her again, "it is not worth the pain it causes."

"No, I don't…" Confused, Mariélle tried to explain, but someone called out the girl's name from a few feet away.

"I must go. Goodbye Mariélle." Éponine quickly ran off in the direction her name had been called and quickly vanished into the crowd.

She thought about the girl's words to her. She had no idea what Éponine had meant. She had no other feelings for Enjolras other than gratitude and perhaps even friendship. But still the strange warning troubled her. Even more so, when she spotted him walking towards her.

DUH DAH DUH! (:

Translation Time!:

phénoménal- phenomenal

Maîtresse- Mistress