Chapter 12: All the Lights are Misty in the River
The meeting at the Cafe Musain ended at eleven o' clock. Éponine said farewell to the students, and they all returned the goodbye.
Marius was waiting for her at the door of the cafe. "Shall we return to Gorbeau House now?"
She blinked. "Together?"
He nodded. "I don't see why not. We're going to the same place, after all."
"OK. But we can't talk the Rue St. Michel back." Éponine said.
"Why not?" Marius asked.
"Because..." She hesitated. She couldn't tell him that she was afraid she might be recognized; Papa often sent her into the areas around St. Michel to steal, and she couldn't risk being caught now, not with Marius with her. Luckily, she remembered that there were two ways from the Cafe Musain back to the Gorbeau tenement. One was the Rue St. Michel, and the other was a little road down by the river, where there was an embankment that blocked the Seine from flowing. "Because it's so much nicer to walk down to the river tonight." She told him.
Marius smiled. "Whatever you want, 'Ponine." And together, they began the journey home.
Later, as they were walking along the riverside, Éponine reflected on the evening she'd had. She had, almost without wanting to, enjoyed herself there. The group of students there-Les Amis de l'ABC, they called themselves-were far more exciting than she had thought they would be. Grantaire, despite being the drunkard that he was, could actually be interesting when he talked coherently. Combeferre, the philosopher, Jehan Prouvaire, the poet, and Feuilly, the worker, had been very friendly to her, in ways that only Marius and Monsieur Cambriol had been before. They expected nothing from her, and didn't care when she spoke her mind, which was often. After a while of talking about herself and her family-she'd avoided all questions about her father-they'd told her what they were planning in the summer; an action so daring that it promised hope for all the poor in Paris.
Revolution. That's what they were plotting.
Éponine knew almost nothing about revolutions. Whenever she heard the word, it conjured images of the Bastille falling, or the guillotine taking off the heads of thousands of innocent bourgeois. She couldn't imagine people like Marius and Combeferre sentencing people to death; they were simply too nice. Maybe their kind of revolution would be different from the ones that had come before. She just didn't know yet.
It was very peaceful, walking along the Seine that evening. There were times when Éponine caught herself noticing things around her that she never had before. The chirping of the crickets in the grass, for one. Or the stillness of the river at night. Or how brightly lit the stars were. Or that tight feeling in her chest she felt whenever Marius turned back to look at her.
After a while, she said "Monsieur Marius?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For bringing me to the Musain tonight, I mean. I'm very grateful."
"You're very welcome." Said Marius warmly.
"I'm also very confused."
He stopped walking. He looked at her, his face quizzical. "By what?"
"Look at this from my point of view. My next-door neighbor, whom I have never spoken to until this week, has paid a rent that wasn't his without a second thought, donated five francs to a poor family with money to spare, and has just brought a gamine to a cafe filled with the brightest young minds in Paris." She stood facing him resolutely, her arms akimbo. "Who exactly are you, Monsieur Marius?"
To her astonishment, he laughed. "I had a feeling you were a clever one." He grinned. "I suppose I haven't been completely honest with you, Éponine. I'm not just a struggling law student. I am...a grand bourgeois."
She raised her eyebrows. "What?"
"Well, I will be, someday. Or maybe not. My grandfather, Monsieur Gillenormand, has the quite family fortune, and as the only son of his eldest child, I stand in line to inherit it."
"But if you're going to inherit a bourgeois fortune, then why on earth are you living in the bloody Gorbeau tenement?" Éponine demanded.
"Because of my father, Georges Pontmercy. He was a colonel in the Emperor's army, and he didn't get along well with my grandfather; the most stubborn old royalist you will ever meet. When I was a child, growing up in M. Gillenormand's household, I was never allowed to see him even once. When he died, and I learned about his life and his victories, I adopted his Bonapartist views." He laughed bitterly. "Grandfather was not very happy about that. We quarreled, and I left his house. I lived in Courfeyrac's flat for a while, until I was able to move out and rent that room in the Gorbeau tenement. He sends me sixty pistoles every six months-or rather, my aunt does-and we haven't spoken a word to each other in five years."
"That's so sad." Said Éponine.
He nodded agreement. "It is. I usually don't admit it, but there are times when I miss that old bourgeois. He was the only family I ever had." He looked out towards the river. "Éponine...none of my other friends know about my family's background. I'd apreciate it if you didn't tell them any of what I just told you."
She nodded earnestly. "Don't worry, Marius. I'll keep your secret safe."
He heaved a small sigh of relief. "Well, that's my story. What about you? I hardly know a thing about you aside from your name."
"And why should I tell you?"
"Considering I've just bared my soul to you, I think you owe it to me."
"Fair enough." Éponine conceded. "I don't have anything so dramatic, unfortunately. I grew up in a small suburb outside of Paris called Montfermeil. My father's business failed when my sister and I were children. We've been living in this city for years now, trying to scratch a living out of a few sous." 'And a few good robberies.' She added mentally.
Marius's eyes widened. "Did you say Montfermeil?" He asked her.
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"When you were growing up there, was there a man living in that area named...oh, for God's sake, what was it? Daladier? Grenadier?" Finally, he seized on it. "Thenardier, yes! Was there a man named Thenardier?"
Éponine's heart froze. "Why would you want to know?"
"My father fought at Waterloo. A sergeant saved his life there, a man named Thenardier of Montfermeil. My father wrote to me, right before he died, telling me to find Thenardier and offer him any service that I could." Marius pursed his lips. "Although I doubt my father knew how far Thenardier would sink in later life."
Now Éponine was getting nervous. Papa had told them the story of how he'd saved the life of a general at Waterloo, of course; it was often the subject of his wounded pride in his begging letters. But he'd never mentioned a son being involved. Marius had clearly done some investigating in his search to find her father. Exactly how much did he know? "What do you mean, sink?" She asked cautiously.
He looked at her, surprised. "You haven't heard of him? They say he's the biggest criminal in Paris. Very adept at thieving, I've been told, but he won't hesitate to slit a throat or two." He shuddered. "Very dark man, very dark. It's really quite ironic, though; there is no man in this city I would rather meet less, and yet I must meet him and fulfill my father's wish by helping him."
'Oh, don't worry about that, Monsieur Marius. You've helped him more often than you think.' "How awful for you." Was Éponine's only comment.
She was silent for the entire rest of the way.