April 1832
"M'sieur, would you care for some company tonight?" a hoarse voice echoes out of the shadows as Courfeyrac walks briskly along the darkened side-street, a box of bullets and a bayonet concealed beneath his jacket. Sometimes he stops for ladies of the night, but tonight, he needs to get these bullets to Enjolras' apartment, and hide the bayonet he has acquired before he is stopped by the gendarmes for looking suspicious.
"M'sieur, please." The speaker steps out of the gloom, blocking his way, a pitifully determined expression plastered across her sunken face. Courfeyrac stops in shock.
"Don't I know you?" are the first words that spill out of his mouth as he stares at the streetwalker, taking in the long, unkempt red hair and green eyes that seem far too large and old for a girl her age.
"Why would a respectable student like yourself know a whore like me?" she steps to the side, wrapping her arm around her skinny waist, seemingly overcome by remorse that she held him up. Or trying to avoid being recognised. "I am sorry, Monsieur. I will not bother you."
Courfeyrac, still set on the fact that he's seen her before, notices the stiff way in which she holds her shoulder, the bruises across her face and neck. "You're hurt, mademoiselle," he says gently, approaching her like you would a wounded animal.
"I'm fine," she tries to back down an alley, but Courfeyrac lunges and catches hold of her arm. She squeaks in pain, recoiling and cradling the limb into her chest. He notices tears pooling in her eyes.
"You're not fine," he says firmly. "Come with me to my friend's garret – he's a medical student."
"I could not impose!" the girl protests. "No, Monsieur, there is nothing wrong with me."
"I insist," Courfeyrac makes sure the bullets are hidden in his pocket, and takes the arm she's not holding. The girl continues to resist as he starts to tow her along, taking no heed of her objections.
Anyone who would have seen them that night would have thought they made a strange pair – the tall, handsome student and the bedraggled little gamine, their shadows made large by the orange glow of the streetlamps.
Finally, after some fifteen minutes of walking, Courfeyrac draws to a halt before a green-painted door. The girl has, thankfully, ceased arguing, having fallen silent about five minutes into their journey. Now, she just stares in awe at the sturdily built, honey coloured tenement, her eyes wide as she takes in the curtains at the white-painted window frames, and the bronze bell at the side of the door.
Courfeyrac takes hold of the bell-pull and jangles it loudly, attracting the attention of the concierge inside, and causing her to open the door. "Oh, you again," the old woman grumbles, paying no heed to the now-shivering girl standing beside him. "They are upstairs."
"Thank you, Madame," Courfeyrac flashes a white smile at her, before adjusting his grip on the bayonet in his jacket and the gamine's hand. Once inside, he takes the wooden stairs two at a time, barely noticing the neat cream-coloured paint on the walls and the shiny hand-rail. The girl, on the other hand, seems to be transfixed by the luxury around her – it is only the tug of Courfeyrac's hand on her bony wrist that keeps her moving.
On a wood-panelled landing at the top of the staircase are four doors – Courfeyrac stops in front of the first and knocks loudly. There is no reply, so he knocks again, before swearing under his breath. "Merde." Then he looks embarrassed. "I'm sorry mademoiselle; I shouldn't have said a word like that in front of a lady."
"I've heard worse," the girl replies quietly. "And I'm no lady, Monsieur."
"Every woman is a lady in the eyes of the Republic," he states firmly, closing the matter. "Now, as Combeferre's not in, he'll probably be at Julien's…" the girl's mouth falls open as he utters those words. He looks back at her to see the expression of surprise on her face, but as soon as she spies him watching her, she's snapped her mouth shut. Strange girl, he thinks to himself as he walks along to the end of the corridor, and leads her up yet another flight of stairs.