Chapter 21: Three Lives are Saved...
"Fauchelevent!" A voice shouted.
Startled, Jean Valjean went to his window and opened the shutters. Out in the street was the dramatic artist from the Gorbeau tenement, Fabantou. He had seven other men with him, none of whom looked particularly well-meaning.
Nevertheless, he resolved to keep his voice calm. "Ah, Monsieur Fabantou." He said. "I have been expecting you. You should know, I have your seventy-five francs ready."
The man laughed. "I haven't waited ten years for that paltry sum, monsieur. I'm taking what's due to me."
Valjean narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"I mean-look!" With that, Fabantou cast aside his wide-brimmed hat, revealing a scraggly mess of red and gray hair, a sallow face and greedy eyes. "My name is not Fabantou. It is not Jondrette either. I am Thenardier, and you know my face as well as I know yours. You're the bastard who borrowed Colette!"
Valjean swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. It was, indeed, Thenardier; the wicked innkeeper entrusted by Fantine to take care of Cosette. He was the greediest man Valjean had ever known, and he suspected that even the fifteen hundred francs he'd payed to take Cosette away hadn't stopped the man's quest for fortune.
"You still don't know her name." Valjean called down, keeping his voice steady. "What do you want, Thenardier?"
The former innkeeper smiled cruelly. "Why, the same thing that a certain Fabantou wanted when he came; the mask has simply changed."
"You said you wanted more than seventy-five francs." Valjean replied.
"Oh, I do. And if you don't deliver, I will personally blow your precious daughter's brains out."
"If you're going to play this game, then you need to learn to bluff better." Said Valjean icily. "Cosette is inside. I just saw her in her room not ten minutes ago."
"Then allow me to enlighten you." Thenardier raised his pistol, and fired a single shot into the garden. It ricocheted off the stone wall, but it elicited a frightened yelp from somewhere behind the trees.
Valjean's heart skipped a beat. Cosette was in the garden after all. And she was in mortal danger.
"My friends and I want two hundred thousand francs." Thenardier said. "I think that compensates for nine years of illegally owning my ward. Go into whatever place in your house you've holed the money up in, and you have my word of honor that we'll leave once we have it. Not a hair harmed on your little lark's head."
Valjean nodded. Whatever Thenardier had become since Valjean had last seen him, he had remained what he originally was; a businessman. And if Valjean played along those lines, then everybody could walk away happy.
But he was Jean Valjean. And he had never liked by playing by other people's rules.
"I keep a considerable sum in a box in the cupboard." He falsely admitted. "Give me three minutes to grab it and deliver it. After that, our business is at an end.
Thenardier nodded. "Good."
Valjean walked down the hallway, entered the kitchen, and opened the cupboard. Something was indeed inside it, but it was not a money jar. It was a fully loaded carbine rifle.
Was this a rash action? It was. Would Valjean die in the attempt to ward off the robbers? Almost certainly. Would Cosette stay safe? Yes. And for Jean Valjean, nothing on earth was more critical to him than Cosette's safety.
He knew that Thenardier would not keep his word to not harm Cosette. Any man who is such a prowler is a liar as well. If Valjean bent to Thenardier's will, he would take the money, but he would also remove his gambling piece out of play as well-Cosette. Money for his greed, and vengeance for his pride. Thenardier, like all crooked men, wanted to have more than their opponent. And Thenardier knew exactly what he could take away from Valjean.
Valjean crept carefully to the front door. He hadn't used a gun since Montreuil, but that hadn't decreased his accuracy by any means. He would fire a shot by Thenardier-he wouldn't be wounded, but hopefully it would be enough to scare him and his companions off-and he would fire a second shot once he had reloaded. If the thieves were still there by then, and if they had drawn their weapons as well, then the Rue Plumet would very likely experience its first gun-battle.
Valjean breathed deeply. He made ready to swing the door open. He hoped that Cosette would stay out of the fray, for her sake.
He was just about to come out, rifle in hand-
When a blood-curdling shriek sounded from somewhere nearby.
Valjean was so surprised, he almost dropped his gun. From the garden, Cosette gasped, and Thenardier's gang cowered in terror, as though it were the cry of a banshee. In the distance, Valjean heard footsteps approaching; hopefully those of a passerby and not a policeman.
"That accursed slut!" Thenardier swore. "By God: she will rue this night! Cambriol, you go and take care of her; for good, this time. The rest of you with me. We're getting the hell off this street." There was a pause, and Valjean could imagine the thief glaring at him through the walls. "This isn't over, Fauchelevent!" He called. And with that, he and seven other gangsters fled Rue Plumet, the eighth running off in the other direction.
Valjean slumped against the wall, his pulse slowing down. Somebody-not Cosette-had cried out and scared away the robbers. But who?
Éponine coughed softly in her fist, her voice soar after issuing that scream.
She awoken only a minute or so after Montparnasse had knocked her out. Her head was still throbbing, but she couldn't worry about herself right now. Cosette and Monsieur Fauchelevent were in danger, and she was the only one who could save them. Quite ironic, if you thought about it.
She stood up, using the wall to balance herself. She didn't know where Marius was, she didn't know if Cosette or her father were safe, or even if the robbers had been scared away by her cry. So the only way to know was to find out herself.
Before Éponine could start exploring, a voice said "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
She turned, fearful. Standing behind her was Cambriol, his hand at his side.
Éponine smiled, relived. "Oh good, it's you, Alexandre. I was afraid it might be my father, or Chapard, maybe. I'm sorry that I screamed, but I couldn't let you rob this house. Mademoiselle Fauchelevent is a...friend of mine." She said, almost surprised at naming Cosette as her friend. Then she caught something glinting by Cambriol's waist. "What are you holding?" She asked him.
In one fluid motion, the thief drew out a saber, three feet long and sharp as a knife.
Éponine jumped back.
"This is a saber I took from a dead soldier at the Place Vendôme, during the revolution of 1830." Cambriol explained. "Since I have possessed it, it has only killed twice; the first was on the last of the Three Glorious Days in the Tuileries, when a wounded rioter begged me to end his life. The second was when Marceau grabbed it out of my hands and murdered a drunk with whom he had quarreled. I find that once again, its victim is killed under unique circumstances."
Éponine's blood froze. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I must now use it to kill a friend." Said Cambriol sadly.
"Alexandre, you wouldn't-"
Without warning, Cambriol whacked Éponine's arm with the flat of the sword. She fell back down to the ground, shocked and bleeding, as Cambriol advanced on her, saber in hand.
"Alexandre, are you out of your mind?" She cried tearfully.
"I'm sorry, Éponine, but I have to do this. This isn't a hidden act of mercy in the dark. I swore to obey your father on this job, and my word is one of the few things I have left to value. He has ordered me to kill you, and I must do what he wants. I am truly sorry." Cambriol raised his sword high above his head, ready to strike.
"You swore to help any fallen women!" Éponine screamed at him. "At her grave site, you swore! You swore to help...Les Misérables!"'
Cambriol froze, momentarily surprised. "Who is Les Misérables?"
"That doesn't matter now, just listen to me. When Fantine died, you made a promise to shield the virtue of all the women you encountered who were in her situation. You said yourself that the oath includes me. But that vow isn't the only reason you won't kill me."
"Oh, is it?" Cambriol said sarcastically. "Pray tell me."
"I will." Said Éponine, who was slowly becoming more angry than scared now. "You're not going to kill me, Alexandre, because you're afraid. You were afraid to start your life without Fantine, you were afraid to stand up to her lover, and you're too afraid now to stand up to your cousin. And you know what? I bet that vow you made to Fantine's grave is as false as you are; I bet you only helped me that night because you knew you could get away with it. But if that saber comes down on my head, then your illusion will be lost to the world...and her, in whatever afterlife your sister is in. Everyone will see you for what you are; a thief, a liar, and a murderer."
Cambriol's face went very white. Breathing hard, he sank to his knees, his saber clattering to the street. "You're right, Éponine." He said. He buried his face in his hands, his voice breaking. "You're right." And the big man began to cry softly.
Éponine didn't know whether to feel surprised, grateful, or sympathetic. Maybe all three. Cautiously, she inched closer to him, and tried to wrap her arms around him.
He pushed her away, wiping his eyes and smiling. "You comfort me now, just as I did that night in the Gorbeau tenement. How fitting that our places are now reversed; you may not look it, but you are the stronger of the two of us." Cambriol rose, and he sheathed his saber. "Just this once, Éponine." He warned. "For her. For Fantine." Then he lifted her up and grasped her hand tightly. "In case we do not meet again, I am glad to have met you, Éponine Thenardier. I thank you, with all my heart, for being my rose in the underworld." He kissed her politley on the cheek, as he had done in the tenement, tipped his hat, and left her there at the gates of Number 55. As he left, he started to sing:
Ils disent qu'il ya un chemin bientôt d'où je me tiendrai pour juger,
Mais le Diable vous attend avec Christ semblable à un fils.
Lorsque le regard vient à votre façon, meilleures dire était que je.
Pour les raisons vous détenez donner des raisons de mourir.
L'impatience de l'appelant, mais les appels n'a jamais gagné.
Mais le dernier à dire, il peut durer à travers le déluge.
Eh bien, j'ai vu la bataille, et j'ai vu la guerre,
Et la vie pose ici est la vie que j'ai été vendu.
Eh bien, j'ai vu la bataille et j'ai vu la guerre,
Et la vie que j'ai ici, c'est la vie qu'on m'a dit.
The song is part of "Devil's Waitin'", by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. The English translation is:
They say there's a path soon where I'll stand to judge,
But the Devil is waiting with Christ like a son.
When the look comes your way, best say was I.
For the reasons you hold give reasons to die.
The calling's impatient, but the calls never won.
But the last one to say it may last through the flood.
Well I've seen the battle, and I've seen the war,
And the life laying here is the life I've been sold.
Well I've seen the battle, and I've seen the war,
And the life I have here is the life i've been told.