"Oh my poor Marius!" If Cosette had been an angel, she could not have flown faster. She was at the poor wounded man's side in a heartbeat. Her own heart beat very fast, but his was ever slowing, like a top that has spun for too long.
"Cosette," he coughed, squinting, "My Cosette, is it really you?"
"Yes!" She gasped, her thrill at hearing his voice encompassed the sound in springtime. But she was no longer a child. "Marius, remember your promise."
"I do darling, I do," his laughter turned to a bloody cough. "My greatest fear is that my last action on this earth will be to break it."
"Hush! Don't say that!" Cosette dabbed his mouth with his borrowed shirt that she wore, and pulled her eyes away from him scanning the scene for any sort of bandage material. There was nothing, and all hands were at the front of the barricade, not remembering the wounded they had dragged in a corner. It was not their fault. They needed every gun firing, if they were going to win this battle. But Cosette couldn't understand though, she hated all of them. All she knew was that Marius, her love, and their friend was dying, and they did not even care.