Author's Note: A Happy New Year to all of my readers! I must apologise for the lack of updates since November but I was kept really busy up until Christmas, so unfortunately my next installment had to be put on hold. However, at long last here it is and I certainly hope it was worth the wait for you all. As usual, thank you to those who have continued review and follow my story. It means a lot!
The following day, as promised, Éponine led the love-struck Marius to the house on the Rue Plumet where the lark resided. The house itself, a two-storey villa, was tucked away in a secluded, unfrequented area of Paris, boasted a pretty garden around an acre in size and was enclosed by a brick wall and had a black wrought-iron gate. As they approached that very gate, Éponine stopped in her tracks. That grand gate, designed to keep safe the inhabitant and keep out the unwarranted, posed as a barrier between one life and another; one side with a wealth of happiness and love, the other of destitution and sorrow. It segregated; isolated, and in a moment of selfishness, Éponine's heart wrenched at the bitter thought that it could have once been her who was on the other side. On the side where shelter and warmth were not seen as privileges but a given right; where food was a plentiful commodity and water was pure. For years the dusty streets of Paris were where Éponine had roamed and grown accustomed. The deserted alleyway was her bed, the scraps her food. But accepting and adjusting to that lifestyle didn't mean she had disregarded and discarded her desires. Éponine may have resigned to life as a street urchin, but that did not mean she lost all hope that change could come. A small candle still wavered inside of her; the last thread of hope that she desperately clung to like a child would to the hand of her mother. When that light was finally snuffed out, it would also be the day that the pale-faced girl would die. Regardless of their position in society, every person has hopes and dreams. In the countless lonely nights she'd spent huddled in an alleyway, it wasn't the need of a warm, soft bed on which to rest her aching body, or the taste of fresh bread and clean water on her lips that she so desired. What Éponine truly yearned for was what Cosette had been fortunate enough to find; someone to love her unconditionally. She longed for the knowledge that she belonged to someone and was wanted. And Marius was going to pass through the gate onto the other side and enter that life. Without her.
Now, as she turned forlornly to see the handsome boy's face illuminate in ecstasy, she found herself suddenly understanding him. Marius too was simply driven by the force of love, nothing else in the world mattered to him but his beloved. To be loved is to be brought alive. Sure, you were physically alive so long as your heart kept beating, but to be truly alive was for that heart to be filled with fulfillment and adoration. The human heart beats with a purpose, and that purpose is to find its soul mate. And now, gazing at Marius as his eyes twinkled, filled with the sparkle of excitement and delight, Éponine could feel her heart beating desperately. Wasn't Marius meant for her?
"You are certain this is where she lives?" he asked, his eyes not tearing away from the gate.
"Yes, Monsieur Marius. I am certain. I followed her back yesterday."
Éponine's voice quavered as she spoke; yet Marius appeared oblivious. At the confirmation, he leapt up onto the railings and lithely hoisted himself over into the garden and disappeared. For a moment, the girl remained still, her glassy eyes remaining fixed hopefully on the gate. After a moment, she took the initiative to stay hidden and slunk into the shadows of the wall, where she stood motionless and silent. From where she was, she could peer stealthily through the railings and see the two lovebirds, speaking in soft tones. After eavesdropping for several moments, the gamine surrendered with tears streaming down her cheeks and slumped against the wall. How foolish she was! Those words he spoke, so genuine and meaningful, would never be uttered to her. To Cosette, it was poetry, to Éponine it was like a dagger plunged into her heart that twisted with every word.
She didn't know how long she'd been sobbing before she was alerted to the presence of company. In the distance, she could just make out five figures, speaking in gruff, low tones, approaching the house, striding with purpose. One man confidently strode ahead of the gang, grumbling to himself and carelessly swinging a half-empty bottle of ale. Éponine's eyes grew wide. She briskly wiped away her tears and took a deep breath, regaining her composure, and strode out casually.
"'Parnasse, why, what are you doing so far out of our patch?"
Montparnasse sniffed but, to her relief, her presence didn't appear to arouse any suspicions.
"This house," he pointed to the house of Cosette and her father. "We're going to do it! The man's rich! He's the one that got away the other day."
Éponine was panicking behind the cool façade. All she could think about was Marius and what he would think if he were to find her with them. He would be disgusted and think it was all a plot, an ambush that she had played a part in. She knew she had to warn them inside, but how?
"What have we here?" cried Brujon, as the rest of the gang caught up.
It's your brat, Éponine!" scowled Babet as he turned to Thénardier. "Why she hanging about you?"
"Éponine, get on home!" her father demanded. "You're not needed in this."
"I know this house. There's nothing here for you! It would simply be a waste of your time! It's just the old man and the girl. They lead ordinary lives."
"Don't interfere! You've got some gall!" Thénardier spat.
"Éponine's mind was racing as she desperately tried to think of what to do. Then, an idea came to her: a threat.
"I'm going to scream, I'm going to warn them!"
"One little scream and you'll regret it for a year!" remarked her father, striding forward authoritatively in a bid to scare her into submission.
A piercing scream erupted and startled the men, making them scatter. All but Thénardier.
"You wait my girl, you'll rue this night!"
He gripped her wrist tightly, making her gasp. She braced herself for the brunt of his anger. But, upon hearing the rapid thud of running footsteps approaching, he reluctantly abandoned his punishment and shoved her away, hissing as he made his escape:
"I'll make you scream, you'll scream all right!"
Glancing towards the gate, breathless and shaken, Éponine noticed a figure clambering over the railings. It was Marius. She dashed over to him. He was still beaming ridiculously.
"It was your cry that sent those scoundrels away! Éponine, you saved the day!"
Then, realising that the situation was still unsafe, his eyes scanning the deserted street before them, he suddenly grasped hold of the girl's hand, and lead her down an alleyway.
"Let's not be seen!"
The mere contact with Marius was electrifying to the besotted Éponine. It was like an electric shock; thrilling and sensational. The tears that she had shed earlier had long been forgotten and her face, naturally pale and thin with poverty, suddenly bore a rosy plume of health. How the emotion of love can affect a human being!
It had started to rain heavily when they finally reached the more familiar streets of Paris and Marius stopped to face her as they prepared to go their separate ways.
"You're a good friend, Éponine! I want you to know I am grateful for your help."
He hesitated, the rain dripping from his sodden hair onto his face, and looked her in the eyes. There was no sparkle there when he spoke to her. He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step back, a slight smile flickering on his face as he tried to think of what to say. Words didn't come so easily to him as they did with Cosette.
"Well, see you around."
And, at that, the boy retreated down the cobbled street, leaving her alone. But alas, the spell had been broken. He didn't look back. The boy was blind to the fresh anguish that he had brought. But one would have to look closely to see the fresh tears as they cascaded down the girl's cheeks to distinguish them from the raindrops that continued to pour.
Little he knows, little he sees.
