Marie screamed, though it was too late in the night for any bystanders to come to the rescue. Enjolras clutched the hands that held the knife, but could do nothing to weaken the grip around his throat. The blade gleamed in the faint light, and threw the attacker's features into relief.
Marie gasped. "Julian?"
Enjolras' strangely calm stance staggered a bit when she addressed the man by name. What on earth…?
The man grunted. "This bourgeoisie botherin' you?"
Marie sighed with relief, and threw herself frantically at the man. "Julian! It's alright, he's a friend."
Julian frowned and released Enjolras, who doubled over and panted, "You know him?"
"He's a good friend, though a bit overprotective," Marie shot Julian a glare, which he countered with an openly mischievous grin.
"Dear Marie nursed my sister back to health when she was near dying a few years ago, and I swore to keep an eye on her ever since."
"I see," Enjolras managed, with some difficulty.
Julian appraised Enjolras with a raised eyebrow. "So Marie, you're hangin' about with the upper-crust now?"
Marie cleared her throat, still shaken. "Julian, this is Enjolras; he's a student who frequents the café. I thought he might be interested in visiting the Rue Mort, for a change."
Julian laughed scathingly. "Tryin' to give him a taste of the have-nots, are you?"
Enjolras glanced back and forth between the two of them, and for once couldn't think of a thing to say. He didn't like the way Julian looked at Marie, though there wasn't anything particularly menacing or insincere about his gaze. Maybe it was just that he was looking at her at all.
He studied Julian then, as furtively as he could. The man was young, maybe twenty, and had every appearance of the worst kind of street rat. He wasn't particularly ugly, and might have even been handsome under better circumstances. His long hair flopped into his eyes, which were cast into shadow by his dark brows. Though the rest of his face was boyish, his height made him intimidating, and gave him the swarthy look of a pirate. How he had ever come to befriend Marie, who looked tiny and pale beside him, was beyond Enjolras' comprehension, and he was too tired to try and reason it out for himself. He did notice, however, that Julian's gaze was openly hostile toward him, and he tensed.
Marie must have noticed it, too, for she attempted to ease his glare. "I appreciate the effort, Julian, but you don't have to hold a knife to the throat of every man I come across."
Julian scoffed. "Well, I was passing by the Rue Mort, and Old Man Maud mentioned that you had stopped by, and a man followed you out. What was I supposed to think? I was coming over to the café to see if you were alright, when I saw him and put two and two together."
Her gaze softened. "As I said, I appreciate it."
Julian turned so he was slightly closer to Marie, and said in a low voice, "You know what I told you, you're always protected on these streets." He glared once more at Enjolras, before bowing dramatically and kissing Marie's hand. He stalked off without another word.
That last gesture infuriated Enjolras, and not because Julian had been pointedly mocking him. He didn't like the way the man leaned into Marie when he spoke to her, or how his eyes wandered freely over her face, or especially the way she gave him her hand so willingly. He avoided Marie's eyes by watching Julian walk off, and tried to shake away his unease.
"I'm so sorry," Marie said, finally, "I would never have expected him to do something like that."
Enjolras waved off her apology. "Now I see why you aren't afraid of these streets."
She shrugged. "Julian's gang is protective of those they find worthy of the effort—"
"Gang?"
Marie snickered. "You don't know much about Paris, do you?"
Enjolras sighed. "I thought I did. Suppose I've still got some learning to do."
Marie bit her lip. "Did you mean what you said to Frances? Will you go back and see her?"
"Of course," he answered earnestly, and the look in his eyes was enough to assure her.
"That is very kind of you, Enjolras," she said, and looked down shyly. "I suppose kindness is not something I really expected of you."
He raised his eyebrow. "Why's that?"
She shrugged. "I thought you might not have time for kindness, what with this, this thing you're planning…"
"The revolution?"
She recoiled at the word. "Well, I thought the Rue Mort might help put that into perspective. I didn't intend for the whole lot of them to accept you as their leader in one evening."
Enjolras' eyes danced with that same excitement. "You see, Marie? The people understand that this revolution is what France needs."
She shook her head slowly and studied his handsome face, his earnest smile, his halo of blond hair, but couldn't bring herself to say what she truly wanted to say. You're wrong, Enjolras, she thought instead, what France truly needs is something to believe in. It needs you.
This realization brought a lump to her throat, as she remembered her father, who held much of the same passion and excitement that this young man did. And where had that gotten him? Sent off to fight and die in the army. She knew what speaking out could do to a person. How could she live through something like that again?
"Are you alright?" Enjolras prompted, after several moments of silence. His voice brought her out of her thoughts.
"Oh, yes, just a bit tired. I should really get on home."
"And you're sure you don't want me to walk you?"
She smirked. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you?" Enjolras laughed, a rare occurrence, and she smiled in return. "No, I'll be fine. And if anyone else bothers you, be sure to drop my name. It'll get you out of trouble."
Enjolras nodded. "I've had plenty of trouble for one day. I'll see you tomorrow at eight?"
"Of course."
He smiled and started walking down the street. Before he was out of sight, however, Marie called after him. "Goodnight, Enjolras!"
He half-turned and waved. "Goodnight, Marie." And she watched as he disappeared up the street.
Enjolras was good to his word, and visited the Rue Mort every night afterward. But he never saw Frances there again.