June 5, 1832

Chapter 37: ...And There Are Storms We Cannot Weather

Marius collapsed upon the side of the newly built barricade, exhausted.

It had been quite a day. On Enjolras's signal, the Amis had hijacked the colossal funeral hearse of General Lamarque, thus completing stage one of the revolution: claiming Lamarque as the people's' hero, not the Bourbons'. Naturally, the National Guardsmen escorting the hearse weren't very happy about that. Before Marius knew what was happening, there were gun-shots and sword-fights erupting across the street, and the revolutionaries fled to make their stand at the Corinthe. Monsieur and Madame Grosjean hadn't been there to stop them, but their son Julien was only too willing to help them. It had hardly taken ten minutes to build the barricade with all the furniture dropped from above, and now they waited.

So if everything was going so well, why did Marius feel so depressed?

He knew the answer, of course. It was because of Éponine.

She must have felt that way about him for months. Now, all the strange little things Éponine had done for him-telling him to stay inside his room during the attack on Cambriol, telling him Cosette's address-made sense. And he'd been such an idiot about it, because he was in love as well, only not with her.

He would have liked to apologize to her straightaway, and hopefully discover that she didn't hate him as much as she should. But he had no idea where she'd gone after she'd fled the Gorbeau tenement. He'd tried the Cafe Musain and the Corinthe, Gavroche's elephant, Rue Plumet and even Les Madelonettes. But she was nowhere to be found, and now she was absent from the revolution she'd helped to create.

Enjolras, his face grim, came up to him and asked "Have you seen Éponine?"

Marius stood up shakily, and shook his head. "No. Not since yesterday."

"I was afraid of that." Enjolras whistled, and Gavroche materialized at the other end of the barricade. The gamin sauntered over to them, not looking any more cheerful than Eniolras.

"Gavroche, tell Marius what you told me." Enjolras said gently.

He nodded. "Last night, I saw 'Ponine running towards the bridge of Austerlitz. Nobody was chasing after her that I could see, so I followed her to see what was up. But by the time I reached the bridge, but I couldn't see where she'd gone." He looked worriedly at Marius. "You don't think she's in any trouble, do you?"

A weight suddenly clung heavily around Marius's heart. "No, Gavroche. I'm sure that she's fine."

"Then why isn't she here with us?" He asked. "She's worked so hard on this revolution. I'd hate for her to miss it."

"I'm sure that she won't miss it." Enjolras assured him. "Now, run along. The National Guard will be coming soon, and I want every man to be ready for them."

Gavroche perked up at that. "Even the little ones?"

"Yes, even the little ones. Now go!"

The gamin sped off into the Corinthe, almost tackling into Feuilly and Bahorel in his attempt to find a firearm.

Once he had gone, Enjolras turned seriously towards him. "Marius… I would be a very dull fellow indeed if I had never noticed Éponine looking at you the way she did. I know that you would never mean to cause her harm, but I must ask you; do you know why she isn't here?"

"If I did, I would tell you." Marius lied. "But I will let you know if I see her."

Though clearly dissatisfied, Enjolras departed, going off to join Courfeyrac and Combeferre as they and several others continued to build up the barricade.

Marius sat back down on the ground, What if Éponine hadn't left the bridge at all? Could she really have killed herself in her despair over Marius's engagement?

'That's an ending even more horrible than the one in the fairytale.' He thought.

A young revolutionary was passing by him, a rifle in his hand, when he stopped, and turned to look down at Marius. "You're looking pretty miserable for someone who's fighting in a revolution. And crying a lot more too."

To his frustration, Marius realized that he was, in fact, tearing up a bit. "It's nothing." He told the boy, wiping his eyes. "I'm just…unhappy that a friend of mine couldn't be here as well. She promised me she would be."

The boy laughed heartlessly. "There's not a girl in Paris I know who's worth getting this teary-eyed about. What's her name?"

He was an odd sight, the boy. He was slim and rather athletic-looking, dressed only in trousers, a worn gray shirt, and a long, flea-bitten gray coat on which he'd fastened his rosette pin. He wore a floppy brown cap as well, which partly hid his face and the rest of his dark hair. Marius thought that there was something vaguely familiar about that hat.

"Éponine Thenardier." He told the boy, though he wasn't sure why he was confessing this to him. "She's a girl from Montfermeil, and I just broke her heart yesterday. I feel terrible about it."

The boy nodded, suddenly quiet. "How did you do that?"

Marius looked at him, getting annoyed. "Who exactly are you?" He asked him.

The boy stuck out his hand. "Christian Daaè, monsieur."

He took it. "Well, Monsieur Daaè, how about this; if we last through tonight on the barricade, I'll tell you about Éponine."

"A fair bet." Christian conceded. "Let's hope you live until tomorrow, Monsieur Marius. I'm anxious to hear your story."

He tipped his cap, and went on his way. It was only after he left that Marius realized he had not told the boy his name.

Neither did he see, once Christian had left, the pleased smile spreading across his face. He shook his head in wonder, and as he did so, a long braid of hair fell out from under his cap.

"Merde." He muttered, and quickly fixed the cap.

Later, as night fell, Marius sat with Grantaire and Julien Grosjean inside the Corinthe, each of them quietly sipping their drinks. Marius and Julien opted for water, while Grantaire, naturally, had wine.

"Will your parents be back soon, Julien?" Marius asked.

He grinned. "No, thank God. My father is visiting a friend who lives across town, and my mother went with him. They won't be back for some time, and we may even have won by then."

"And the Thenardier women? Your tenants?"

"The mother left to run some errands this morning, and Azelma went to her new job at the Saint-Clair factory. They'll have the same trouble as my parents in getting back into the Corinthe." He suddenly fell silent.

"What is it?" Asked Grantaire.

"I've been thinking about something...I am certain that we will triumph-if not tonight, then tomorrow, when the people of Paris join us-what if I die before then? What happens if I don't live to see our victory?"

"Then you'll be dead." Grantaire said coldly. "The same as all of those who have died before you, and all those who will follow you."

Marius looked at the drunkard. "Do you even care if we win or lose, Grantaire? Or are you just here for the wine?"

"I care." He said defensively. "This is one of the few things which I take liberty to care about. My point is, Marius; does it matter if we weather this storm, but die in the process? Will we be like the gods triumphing over Typhon, yet still cast down into darkness like the monstrous children of Gaea?"

"I don't know." Said Marius. "I suppose it does."

Grantaire sighed. "That's all good for you, mon ami. But as for me, I don't think it will matter. Not a bit."