Cosette stood in shock and did not notice the lie of people standing in front of her, trying to bid their own condolences. She felt heat flashing through her body, and felt her temperature fluctuating, and knew her color was rising. Her heart was beating erratically. Just about ten seconds in his presence had done that, and now he was gone already.

He was back- he had obviously seen the obituary, and come. What did that mean? Did he want to be with her again, or did he really just come to bid his condolences? What was wrong with him, running off the way he did without a word? He obviously knew she would want to talk to him! They had so much to talk about didn't they? Maybe he left because he didn't want to talk to her. He thought it was his duty to come to the funeral, but he was still solid on his decision to end relations with her.

But that didn't make sense- why would he feel it was his duty to come to the funeral? He had no obligation to go. He obviously wanted her to see him, and wanted her to know that he knew her husband was dead.

What did that mean?

And, for goodness' sake, why didn't he stay to talk to her?

Cosette spent two weeks in agony over his mysterious appearance- two weeks! He did nothing to explain anything to her, did not show his face again. She did not know whether or not he had the same address, and also did not want to write him. He was the one who sent her into this tizzy, he should take her out of it.

Two weeks later, a letter arrived for her from an address she did not know. The handwriting, however, she did recognize. She was right- he'd moved.

Madame-

If you think it proper, I would like to meet with you for dinner, at your convenience. I would like to hear from you and talk to you again. Of course we shall wait until the accepted time has gone by, as I understand you are in mourning.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

M. Marius Pontmercy

She rose her eyebrows at the letter- it was so formal! But then again, they hadn't spoken in fifteen months- she would have been rather shocked if it was addressed the way their old letters had been. But, despite those fifteen months apart, Cosette knew Marius. She knew that there was a reason he wrote to her now, and the reason was that her husband was dead. He wanted to see her for dinner, and get to know her again. And also, he wanted to see if she still felt the same way about him.

She toyed with him a bit, and did not return his letter for ten days. Of course, it did not matter that much- it would be incredibly improper and insulting to Marcel if they met for at least two months.

She let out a laugh- when had they ever respected Marcel?

Still, she told him that they could meet sometime in July. It felt familiar, suggesting a time to meet months in advance. She also felt the familiar excitement.

And so, she waited anxiously.

On the day of their meeting, Cosette was incredibly nervous. She ate nothing for breakfast or lunch and felt horribly ill. There was a part of her that did not want to do this at all- a very big part, in fact. But some other part of her was dreadfully curious, and so she went through with it. If she didn't, she would never forgive herself.

She arrived at the restaurant five minutes late on purpose- she meant to be a little later, but was too excited to wait. She only wanted to make sure she did not have to wait for him- and she didn't. She should have known he would be right on time- he was probably there ten minutes early.

Seeing him again was moving. They both stood in the entry of the restaurant, and for an immeasurable moment could not tear their eyes from each other. He looked the same- the same thick dark hair, warm brown eyes that pierced her soul, same hands, same posture, the same Marius. He evoked the same things from her too- the erratic heartbeat, flushed face, slippery feeling in her stomach. Nothing had changed. And he was looking at her as though he thought the same thing.

"Hello," he stuttered out awkwardly. That evoked a smile from her, too- he really was the same. "Would you like to... sit down?"

She noticed that he used 'vous' instead of 'tu.' It felt wrong, coming from him, but then again what else should he call her? He would probably call her Madame all evening, as well.

She jumped a little when she went to sit in her chair and he put a hand on her back politely. It also felt the same when he touched her- warmer than it should, like lightening, magical.

He noticed she jumped. "Oh! Sorry, Madame," he said, causing her to flinch.

He noticed that, too. When he sat down, he looked into her eyes with that look he had- the 'we need to talk about something that's going to embarrass you' look.

"Madame," he said again, but she interrupted him.

"Please- don't call me that," she said, not looking at him.

"Then what should I call you?" he asked amiably. Obviously he wanted this to run smoothly- but very properly. She almost rolled her eyes- he was still Marius.

How about Cosette? She thought, but knew he wouldn't do that. Don't you remember me, how I was? When you loved me?" How about... Mademoiselle?"

That she could live with. Even during their days in the rue Plumet- the beginning ones, when all they did was dream and sit under the stars- he still called her Mademoiselle.

"Alright," he gave in. "Mademoiselle. How are you?"

"I'm doing fine, thank you," she said. "Healthy, and that's what's important. How about you?"

"I'm very well, thank you," he said simply. Then they fell silent again. There was so much Cosette wanted to talk about, and yet the way their conversation was progressing, it seemed that the topics she wanted to get to were impossible, especially if she was going to be polite. So she tried to move things along more quickly.

"What pushed you to come to the funeral?" she pressed, looking at him seriously.

He did not answer for a minute. "I'm not sure, exactly. I saw the obituary in the newspaper not twenty minutes before the funeral, and didn't think about it- I just ran. I knew I had to go."

"I was good to see you," she said, noticing how distant it sounded. She revised. "I never thought I'd see you again, and I was glad I did."

"Were you?" he said curiously, smiling.

"Why-yes. Why shouldn't I be?"

He shrugged. "I'm glad to see you as well."

Again, it was quiet. This was going to get tiring very quickly. There was so much to talk about, and no way to bring it up!

"So... start at the beginning," she prompted. "Tell me everything you've been doing, since..." She couldn't finish, but he knew what she meant. He looked relieved to have a conversation start.

It turned out he was busy, and happy and fulfilled. Cosette listened carefully, but he mentioned no women in his retelling of his year without her- though she wasn't sure he would mention one to her anyway. But knowing him, he wouldn't be meeting her if he was tied to someone else.

"And you?" he asked when he finished. She breathed deeply and told him about her own year- rather boring, actually.

When they were done, they knew all the details of the parts of each other's lives they had missed, but they weren't back to how they were. It was still rather awkward.

"So... what happens now?" he asked, voicing her inner concerns.

She smiled. "I don't know. I mean, I spent months and months thinking about what it would be like to see you again, and here we are, only it's not like how I thought... I guess I expected it to be... different somehow." She expected her comment to only make things more awkward, but he opened up.

"I know what you mean- I thought about this a lot, too. I don't know what I expected, but I thought after all we'd been through, we'd be just like how we were, right away."

"I don't think it's going to be that easy," she said, smiling.

"No. It's not. But... I'm willing. If you are."

Suddenly it didn't seem like they were talking about conversation anymore- more like they were talking about something much deeper.

"I am," she promised.

Two hours later, they were walking about the city along the Seine. Their words had come more freely and were now talking with easy banter. Neither remembered when it had happened, but they had clasped their hands together. It finally was comfortable again, as if nothing was different, as though they'd subtracted all those years and were children in the rue Plumet again. All their troubles seemed very far away, and they knew each other again.

It was late, though, and soon they had made it back to Cosette's home.

"Thank you for seeing me, Mademoiselle," he said, becoming formal again. She blushed and internally cringed- why did he have to do that?

"I'm glad you contacted me, Monsieur," she said, matching his formality.

"Would you like to see me again?" he asked. "Because I would like to see you."

She smiled warmly. "I would. Soon."

"Tomorrow evening? Same time?"

"Sounds perfect."

And then, as he had done countless times during their visits during the summer of 1832, he leaned down and kissed her hands. She felt her cheeks color, but then just bid him goodnight.

When she retired to bed, she still wasn't sure what was happening. The way they had talked tonight- it had been like they were companions. They still did not mention the years of their affair, funnily enough. The closest they got to mentioning those years was Marius asking about Cosette's son- and that was very indirect.

She would have to see how this played out, because right now it was very confusing. They were not back to how they were- however, Cosette knew one thing.

She knew she'd been right when she told Marius she would never stop loving him. For with every touch, every word he spoke, she reacted in a way that could only be described as instinctual. She was still in love with him, still loved him as much as she did back then. She just couldn't tell him yet.

Thanks for continuing to read! More coming soon!