A/N: Sorry for all this melodrama, folks, but that's Les Mis. It'll lighten up soon, I promise.
Pitié
The next morning, after breakfast, Éponine began her toilette on her own. She had asked Joséphine to show her what to do. As she was putting the last pins in her hair she heard the doorbell ring and the muffled voices of Enjolras and Joly came to her ears. Nothing unusual there. But then she heard a third voice and her heart gave a painful lurch.
Marius was in the house.
She froze at the dressing table, straining to hear their words, but unable to make them out. Then came the sound of the study door closing somewhere belowstairs and the voices became barely audible.
Éponine tiptoed her way out of the room and gingerly leaned over the banister to peer down into the foyer.
The coast was clear.
Quick as a cat and quiet as a mouse Éponine stole down the stairs, not daring to pause at the study door for fear of what she might hear. She stepped out into the street and began to walk. Swiftly.
Had Marius come on account of her? Did he know she lived there? He had burned her letter . . . did he remember the address she had written? She had been careful not to mention who she was living with for Joly and Enjolras' safety, on the off chance the letter was intercepted by the police.
Was he in there telling Joly and Enjolras the horrible things she said? The vicious things she said? Or did he have other business? Curiosity almost made her turn back but she pressed on, still intent on her original mission. Finding a job was now doubly imperative.
If Marius were indeed telling her benefactors of her shameful conduct there would be no going back. She would surely be kicked to the curb like the trash she felt, at the moment, she was. She did not deserve their protection.
The bells of Notre Dame rang out nine O'clock. They sounded so close that she started. She turned to see that her feet had taken her to the neighboring Île de la Cité and she was passing the cathedral itself. She sniffed and swiped at a tear as she looked up at its soaring edifice. A breeze hit her in the back of her bare neck and, despite the warmth of the summer morning she shivered. She felt exposed. Without much thought as to why, Éponine entered the cathedral.
The air was heavy with incense. She dipped her fingers into the basin of water built into the archway post and crossed herself, as she observed another worshipper do. She did not often venture inside the ancient sanctuary. The few times she had she was either chased out by a scandalized priest for her lack of proper appearance and disturbing the sensibilities of the upper-class worshippers, or she was ushered into a less-visited side-chapel and told to stay there.
But, that did not happen today. With the appearance of a regular, respectful citizen no one bothered her. If she were not so distracted she would have been amused when a passing priest bid her a pleasant "good morning".
Éponine spent an hour admiring the plethora of radiant colors that streamed from the exquisite clerestory windows; trying not to think. A sense of peace stole over her as she looked at the images and the color. She wandered into a side-chapel and managed a smile at the sight of the vaulted ceiling, painted to resemble the night sky; shimmering gold stars on a field of deep blue. She looked at the altar where there stood a statue of Christ as the Good Shepherd with a lamb tucked securely in his arms.
Éponine doubted God would listen to the prayers of such a one as her, but it was worth a try. She knelt down on the velvet cushion before the altar and rested her clasped hands on the railing. Another wave of peace and a sense of comfort stole over her as did one more feeling: encouragement; although where that came from she did not know.
Dear Heavenly Father . . . dear Heavenly Father . . . dear Lord . . . Help Monsieur Enjolras . . . help . . . help . . . help me . . . and watch over Azelma . . . and Maman . . . and Pére, if you must.
It was if a weight had been lifted off her chest. Suddenly, despite the incense, Éponine felt as if she could breathe easier. She kept her eyes closed and continued her posture of prayer, reveling in this new, comfortable feeling.
But, her concentration was soon broken when she felt the cushion shift, indicating that another worshipper had knelt beside her. She ignored the new presence until she heard sobbing. Curiosity moved her to open one eye and peek at her neighbor.
It was a woman. Her face was partially obscured by her bonnet, but Éponine knew immediately who it was and, in her surprise, the name slipped from her lips.
"Alouette?"
Cosette gasped and turned so violently she almost fell off the cushion. On recognizing Éponine she shrank back but did not rise.
"Wh—what are you doing here?" She asked, her query punctuated by a hiccup.
"I have a right to be here, same as you."
"Yes, of course—I just did not expect . . ."
"I've been looking for a job, if you must know," Éponine lifted her chin and adjusted her own bonnet.
Cosette blew her nose into a fine lawn handkerchief. "Oh. Have you had any success?" She asked with ridiculous politeness.
"No, I—Why are you crying?" Éponine asked, suddenly alarmed. Cosette scooted further back. Dread settled into Éponine's stomach. "Has something happened to Marius?" Could something have possibly happened between the time she left the townhouse to her arrival at the cathedral? What would the Lark have to cry about, if not that?
"No! No . . ." Cosette shook her head vehemently, tears once more making their way down her porcelain face. "The engagement . . . is broken."
"What?" Éponine practically shrieked in shock, earning a few disapproving glances from other visitors. "Did Marius cry off?"
"No!" Cosette shook her head again. "I did."
"You?"
Cosette nodded mournfully. "I spoke with Papa about what you said that night and . . . and he . . . confirmed it, albeit reluctantly, and only after much pestering. But, he would not tell me much more about it. I wrote Marius a letter, relating to him what Papa told me, informing him that under such circumstances I could not possibly marry him. I could not bear it! I will not bring such a taint to his name! He deserves someone better."
Toussaint, Cosette's maidservant, was standing in the shadows close by murmuring "my poor mistress" repeatedly and dabbing her eyes.
Éponine's jaw had dropped open as she processed Cosette's torrent of distress. She was taken aback at this display of sacrifice. Cosette, who had every chance of happiness in her grasp, gave it up. Éponine had had no chance then, and in resignation and love had given her all. For Cosette to give up happiness once it was already in her grasp . . .
Éponine shut her gaping mouth with a snap; never mind that her foolish words of days ago were the cause of this situation, Éponine had not gone through despair and death for Cosette to break Marius' heart! A fire kindled behind her eyes as she glared at Cosette, who now began to shrink back in earnest. Éponine looked like a panther ready to spring.
"You little idiot," she said, her voice dangerously low.
. . . . . .
Enjolras and Joly sat in the parlor in stunned silence as Marius finished his tale of Éponine's cruel behavior and the unfortunately tragic truth of it all. He had come to them in a desperate search for Cosette. After he had received her letter he had sat for hours in a chair, doing nothing, saying nothing. Until he finally realized that what it said did not matter.
When he reached 55 Rue Plumet he found it empty. He was not aware of Valjean's second home on the Rue de L'Homme Arme. In his frantic search he remembered Joly's card and in desperation he turned to his friend in the odd chance that he might know her whereabouts. His surprise and pleasure at seeing Enjolras alive and well did distract him momentarily, but, once he got used to the idea he was back to lamenting Cosette's loss.
"I cannot live without Cosette!"
"I . . . I can't believe that Éponine said that . . ." Joly murmured, ignoring Marius' recent ejaculation. Enjorlas paced the parlor floor. He did not know what to say, but he knew what he felt: anger, confusion, disappointment. The related incident served as a rude reminder that she was just like every other female he ever encountered: completely incapable of reigning in her emotions!
Completely opposite of him.
But . . . perhaps . . . it was unfair to hold her to a standard that he himself strove towards. He now realized that over the course of their acquaintance it had been her apparent-to-all emotions that had caused him to unconsciously give her undue notice. Her love had motivated her against all cold logic to selflessly continue to help Pontmercy win Cosette at the cost of her own happiness and nearly her life . . .
"And now Cosette has broken the engagement for fear of tainting my good name, or some such rot! Oh, Cosette, where are you?"
Enjolras rolled his eyes. He had not missed Pontmercy's melodrama.
Suddenly, a cacophony of female voices filtered through the closed door and before anyone could react, it burst open.
Éponine, her bonnet askew, her eyes ablaze, came storming in, dragging a weeping Cosette behind her.
"Oh, someone save my mistress! The woman has gone mad!" Toussaint wailed, bringing up the rear of the strange parade.
"Thénardier . . ." Marius began, anger overtaking surprise at his first sight of Éponine, but when he noticed Cosette behind her, it all vanished and he forgot everyone. "Cosette!"
Cosette gasped and, blushing furiously tried to back out of the room, but Éponine slipped behind her and barred her way.
"My last errand, Monsieur. Here's your darling Cosette."
Marius rushed forward and folded Cosette in his arms. The fragile young woman did not resist.
"Darling, why did you leave me?"
"I—I'm not worthy of you, Marius . . . Not knowing what I know now of my real history . . ."
Marius cradled Cosette's pale face and whispered fervent assurances to the contrary against her cheek, wet with tears.
Enjolras cleared his throat and pulled his gaze from the couple to Éponine, who was edging her way to the door. On her face was the terribly familiar expression of misery he had come to recognize from the days before the barricade fell and it saddened to him to see its reappearance.
Joly and Enjolras followed Éponine's example and left the lovers to a hopeful reconciliation. Joly retreated to his bedroom and Enjolras was about to go to the study when he noticed that Éponine had not moved from the door. She had her back flush against the oak paneling, listening, her face a rigid mask.
"I told you it's not good to eavesdrop."
Éponine glared up at him, but did not budge.
Enjolras moved toward the study again. He tried to harden his heart against her, to dredge up the anger he felt when he learned of her vindictiveness towards Pontmercy and Cosette nights ago. . . but, he could not; not after witnessing another example of that extraordinary selflessness he had been recently reflecting on. Why did she do it? Her revenge would have been complete had she not brought Cosette to Marius . . .
The woman is a walking contradiction.
Enjolras turned away from the study door with a sigh and leaned against the wall beside the parlor door, beside Éponine.
"Why are you listening? Do you enjoy torturing yourself?"
Éponine did not answer. She did not seem to hear him.
"Marius told us about that night . . ."
The pained look on Éponine's face deepened a fraction. She heard the deep disapproval in his voice and For some reason the knowledge of disappointing Enjolras was just as painful as Marius' disgust.
"And you've never said foolish things in anger?" Éponine snapped.
Enjolras flinched. "Touché, madam."
"You have no right to judge me, Monsieur."
Marius' voice filtered through the door once more: "Cosette, my love, please do not cry. I don't care who your mother was, what matters is your character and you've proved to me over and over thorough your kindness and virtue alone that you are worthy of my love. I only hope I may be worthy of yours."
Enjolras heard Éponine's nails scrape against the door as she balled her fists. He frowned in concern. Why are you doing this to yourself?
"Please," he heard Marius say, "say you'll be my wife again."
There was a charged pause before Cosette's voice was heard acquiescing.
Éponine's body sagged against the door, as if in sudden relief. She looked exhausted.
"Maybe he'll forgive me now . . ." she murmured. She pushed herself away from the door, past the incredulous Enjolras, and began to ascend the stairs.
Pity filled Enjolras' heart as he watched her. He suddenly wanted to pull her off the stairs and wrap her in his arms, to comfort her, as a friend. That's what he was, wasn't he? The poor girl needed one. How many times can one heart break before it turns to dust?
"I forgive you," Enjolras said quietly.
Éponine paused in her ascent and looked down at him. A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips, but did not reach her eyes.
"Thank you, Monsieur."
"'Ponine?"
Marius suddenly appeared at the study door. Cosette was beside him, with her arm tucked securely into his. Éponine stiffened, her knuckles turning white on the banister.
Marius gazed up at Éponine and slowly he raised his hand out to her, an encouraging smile on his face.
As if in a trance Éponine slowly descended the stairs and took the proffered hand.
"I owe you more than I can say. . . for everything . . . my dear friend." Marius said softly.
Éponine choked back a sob.
"Then you forgive me, Monsieur?"
"Of course I do, 'Ponine." It did her heart good to hear the nickname pass his lips once again. She bent down and kissed his hand, grateful tears dropping onto it.
"Goodbye, Monsieur Marius."
Once the couple left the house seemed strangely silent after all the commotion.
"I forgive you, too, Éponine!" Joly yelled from atop the stairs. "What?" he said when he saw his friends' bemused stares. "Everyone else was saying it. I was feeling left out."
Enjolras looked down at Éponine to see that a genuine smile had appeared on her face.
"That's better," he said softly.
Éponine glanced up at him and, meeting his warm gaze, blushed slightly.
. . . . . .
A/N: Oh, gosh! It's 3:39am! I know the description of Notre Dame is a little lame, but I've never been there and can only rely on photographs, which are breathtaking, I can only imagine how mind-blowing being in the actual cathedral would be! I made up the figure of Christ in the side-chapel.
And a side comment about Enjolras being attracted to Éponine. He may be discovering he's attracted to her, but, in real life, (and I'm trying to make a stab at realism here, 'cause Enjolras needs it, poor boy), it's a long road between being attracted to someone and actually being in love with them. Important distinction.
Since this fic is a mixture of musical and book and maybe a smattering of movie, when it comes to Enjolras' relationship with Marius I lean more towards book with a dash of musical. He considers himself a friend to Marius, although not a close one because he can barely tolerate his Bonapartist leanings and day-dreaminess.