When Apollo Met Persephone

by astoryinred

The revolution succeeds. Enjolras confronts reality, both political and personal, while Eponine is faced with a series of opportunities. What happens when they must guide each other in this strange new world that needs them as much as they need it?

38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38: One's Own Steps and Name

'Three days. You have to rest so those wounds will heal properly.'

It was all that Eponine could do to ignore Combeferre's instructions as she cautiously made her way in the general direction of Ravigard's bookshop. 'It's only been two days but all of this is necessary,' she reminded herself, all the while trying to ignore the ache that weighed on her shoulders and her back each time she breathed in too deeply. The city was only in the early stages of waking; in fact the rising sun had yet to drive away the majority of the shadows from the streets of Paris, but Eponine had already been up long enough to see to a variety of things such as breakfast for the rest of the household, as well as putting some mail into the post. 'No one can say I have been completely terrible today,' she thought as she finally caught sight of the bookshop's windows.

She bit her lip as she fished in her pocket for a small piece of paper that Citizenness LeClair had handed to her yesterday afternoon, along with a pouch filled with two weeks' worth of her pay. 'Thank you for your assistance. You need not return to the shop—G. Ravigard,' she read silently. This missive had been enough to fill her with a sense of foreboding that she was all too eager to banish. She took a deep breath as she walked up to the shop's door and knocked twice. "Citizen Ravigard?" she called.

The door opened just enough for Ravigard's face to be seen. "Can I help you, Citizenness Thenardier?" he asked coolly.

Eponine showed him the note. "I received your message yesterday, and the money."

"Ah good! I made it clear; I no longer require your services, Citizenness," Ravigard growled.

Eponine gripped the edge of the door, if only to prevent Ravigard from slamming it shut. "This is about the book I found, I know it."

"Brilliant girl! I suppose that the Department of Surveillance already knows that." The gentleman paused to wipe his mouth. "I don't know what you told your friends there, but you've caused me no end of trouble with their inquiries."

"Perhaps they wouldn't have inquired if they hadn't found something. The addresses, that's what I mean. That's what I saw," she said. She pushed on the door again. "Citizen, it's a serious matter. Fifteen people died at Notre Dame, and five more after. No one knows who did it."

"I will assure you, you will not find the answers here," Ravigard said. "You should be thankful that I did not have you arrested for theft."

"I didn't steal anything! You threw the book out!"

"Get out of my sight before I have to call the police to put you out," he snarled before pushing on the door to finally close it. Eponine just managed to jerk her hand away before her fingers could get trapped against the doorjamb.

'I'll find something there, I know it,' Eponine thought, gritting her teeth as she went to the alley behind the bookshop in hopes of finding some discarded work there that could give her a clue. Much to her chagrin, the narrow street had been cleared of any piles of refuse. She crumpled up Ravigard's note and cast it into a gutter. 'Well now that's one trouble done, and it's brought me another,' she realized.

Instead of returning home, where she would have to explain her absconding as well as her current absence of employment, she decided to quit the area of Rue Saint Dominique, where the shop was located, and head towards the Place Saint-Michel. Since the Cafe Musain was still darkened, she walked on further in the direction of the Place del Sorbonne. All the while Eponine looked about for a lit window, an open door, anything that would suggest a sort of invitation. 'I s'pose no one can tell me I'm too shabby to talk or linger, not like when I was giving Papa's letters,' she thought as she fiddled with her gloves. In those days she'd given the letters to persons and then scurried off before anyone could ask too many questions. 'What sort of enterprise can I take if I am no seamstress and I can only cook just a little?' she wondered a little crossly.

There were more people on the streets now; shops were opening, some students were heading to early classes, and some housewives were bringing their clothes down to the laundresses. Despite this hustle and bustle, Eponine distinctly heard a wolf whistle as she walked past a group of students. She tried sidestepping in order to avoid them, only to nearly collide with a well-dressed woman who'd been emerging from a shop. She could have sworn that this lady hissed an insult at her as she hurried past, but she willed herself to simply ignore it as she arrived on the Rue des Macons. She bit her lip as she caught sight of a door with a sign that said: "Help Wanted: Applicants Please Enter. Must be able to write and do sums."

She looked about the still busy street before knocking thrice on the door. "Are you visiting or applying?" a woman asked sharply from inside the house.

"Applying, Citizenness," Eponine replied. She stood up straight as the door opened to reveal a rather squat lady with her hands still wet, as if she'd been washing something. Her black dress though was neat and elegant, and she wore a white cap over her salt and pepper hair. "I saw your sign, Citizenness, and I thought that I might ask since I really need some situation-"

"That will do, girl," the woman said, wiping her hands on an apron. She squinted as she looked Eponine from head to toe. "I have no use for a maid, though."

Eponine shook her head. "Not to be a maid, Citizenness. I'd be very silly doing that, I think. I could do what your sign says; if you can give me a piece of paper and a pen, I can show you what I mean."

"You are educated?"

"My parents taught me some, and I used to work in a bookshop."

The matron's brow furrowed. "Who are you?"

"Eponine Thenardier."

The woman's eyes widened. "Is that really your name?"

"I don't go by any other," Eponine replied a little more cautiously. 'At least not anymore.'

"I'm sorry for that question; I actually expected you'd be older," the woman said. "I'm Odette Stendhal, though of course that is Citizenness Stendhal to the neighbours." She looked over her shoulder. "Emile you useless boy, put on something decent! We have a guest!"

"Who is it?" a drowsy voice drawled from inside the house.

"A young lady," Odette shouted. She waited for a few moments before letting Eponine into the house. She gestured to a badly lit room piled high with books and papers. "Citizen Stendhal's study...when he was still alive. He was a scholar and a translator. His finest project with some friends was an encyclopaedia in English and German. Now it's my son who'll take over the translating work but there's always so much to be done with accounts and making clean copies. That is why I asked for help."

Eponine swallowed hard. "I'm sorry for your loss, Citizenness."

Odette smiled bravely. "He lived well." She motioned for Eponine to follow her into a tight nook that was fitted out as a sort of drawing room, with a fireplace and some comfortable seats. "Weren't you employed elsewhere? That is how I heard you had all those pamphlets printed," she said.

"I was, but I left my job owing to some differences in opinion."

"No disrespect meant, but why didn't you appeal first to your friends in the Radicaux party? I am sure that at least one of them would have been honoured to take you on as a full time assistant, since it appears that is your inclination."

Eponine willed herself to keep a straight face, even as she remembered for a moment how she'd offered to do a similar thing for Enjolras just two days ago. "I prefer to have employment that is not always related to political work," she explained. "It's safer that way."

"That is wise," Odette mused. She clucked her tongue at the sight of a gangly young man sauntering up to them. "Emile, for heaven's sake, don't you know who will now be working for us?"

"Maman, I have actually heard of her before," Emile Stendhal said. He was a pale, almost languid figure with almost colorless hair that fell into his eyes. "You might not have heard of me, Citizenness, but I'm acquainted with your friend Citizen Prouvaire," he said to Eponine.

"He has far too many acquaintances for me to recall," Eponine replied. 'He's probably not among those who like to rehearse poems in Prouvaire's flat,' she thought as she listened to Emile and Odette discuss an unfinished volume. "Citizenness Stendhal, I s'pose I have to know if you will employ me," she spoke up after a while.

"That would depend on how much you ask," Odette said. "The pay is dependent of course on the number of translations, but I have been able to work it out so you can get around one thousand francs a year. A few hundred more, depending on how business goes."

'A few hundred less than what Citizen Ravigard would give,' Eponine thought but she already found herself nodding. Her room cost her less than thirty francs, food was something negotiable at least where she was concerned, and the biggest expenses were mostly for her brothers' clothes and necessities. "I will be able to make the best of it," she said slowly.

"Perhaps after some time we can discuss giving you a little more," Odette added. "I'll get Emile to clean up the workroom first, so you can come back here tomorrow morning and get started without the mess. I am sure you will not have difficulty finding this place since it is rather near the Sorbonne. Would being here at half-past seven be amenable to you?"

"Well, I think so."

"Good. We do things early here. Emile likes to finish work around 4, so that means you can probably finish up at that time," Odette said. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of your politics."

"How is Citizen Enjolras?" Emile asked. "I heard he is bedridden?"

"Oh he's not in that terrible situation. He's quite capable of getting about but he was advised to rest a little bit," Eponine said with a grin. 'Once he's awake, he's probably going to argue with Combeferre or the concierge again,' she thought.

"That's better than what happened to Citizen Paquet. Broken ribs. He'll live, I heard but they say he may have to consider giving up the campaign. Then I hear that Citizen Turpin may resign too; that leaves us only with Citizens Enjolras, Jeanne, and Blanchard," Emile told her. "And there's only one man from the Democrates party left in the running, that Citizen Bamatabois from the Marais since the rest are either dead or injured. As for those Constitutionalists..." he trailed off before making an obscene gesture.

"They were also hurt," Eponine pointed out.

"Merely because they themselves are dissatisfied by their own candidates," Emile said.

"Emile you morbid child, don't talk about Notre Dame!" Odette scolded.

"Maman, it's in the papers already and Citizenness Thenardier was there herself," Emile said with a long-suffering look.

"Of course she was!" Odette exclaimed. She shook her head and wiped her hands again. "You'd better get started with cleaning out that room."

Emile sighed. "Please give my regards to Citizen Prouvaire and Citizen Enjolras," he said to Eponine before stalking out of the room.

'That's one who doesn't see a lot of sunlight,' Eponine couldn't help noting. "Seven-thirty tomorrow. You can count on it. Thank you Citizenness," she said to Odette.

"No, thank you. I know I was a little surprised to see you knocking, but I'd rather have a Radicaux member here than some stuffed shirt," Odette whispered confidentially. "Now run along. I will have a lot of work for you tomorrow."

After taking her leave of the Stendhals, Eponine set off in the direction of the Place de l'Odeon; Bahorel resided in this neighbourhood. 'Prouvaire said that Bahorel is a late riser, so I don't think he's at the Hotel de Ville just yet,' she told herself. After managing to convince Bahorel's concierge to let her in, she found herself shown to a second floor apartment.

When Eponine knocked, she heard from within what sounded like someone getting up from a creaky chair. "If you're looking for Damien, he's already gone to work," a distinctly feminine voice said.

"Where?" Eponine blurted out. 'I've come across his mistress. What do I do?' she wondered, remembering now that Bahorel had once mentioned a woman. Before she could think of running down the stairs again, the door opened. Standing there was a woman who was perhaps just a little shy of thirty years. She was wearing a rather casual white morning dress that showed off her slightly tanned arms and sturdy frame. Her raven hair fell past her shoulders in rather unruly ringlets, and her cheeks were ruddy even without any rouge.

"I guess you weren't expecting me, but I was not expecting to wake up so late either," the woman said with a slight laugh. "I'm Therese Perrot. You must be Eponine Thenardier."

"How did you know?"

"Only a simple deduction," Therese said gaily. "Most people don't come up here unless it is work or politics. I'm the only one who has a treaty with Damien regarding anything personal. I know that Damien doesn't have any women colleagues in his department, so I presumed that you must be from the Radicaux party. I've met some of the others before, and since your face is decidedly unfamiliar and you are very young, I decided I had two or three guesses."

Eponine couldn't help but grin at this lively explanation. "I'm sorry for intruding. But well, I s'pose you know about what happened at Notre Dame. I need to ask Bahorel something about it."

"That's what's keeping him busy nowadays, as if he means to catch the murderers himself," Therese said. "He got pretty close to finding them at that moment I think. If you wait while I get something for the weather, I'll help you find Damien-"

"I'm not exactly lost, Therese! I merely forgot something," Bahorel's voice boomed from the stairway. "Now this is a surprise, Eponine. I didn't know you two were acquainted," he said when he saw the other girl.

"Not till a few moments ago," Therese said with a giggle.

Eponine merely smiled. "Bahorel, I was thinking that I need to get something to protect my brothers with. Citizen Ravigard is angry with me, of course, and there's the note Enjolras got and other things," she said more seriously to her friend.

Bahorel's brow furrowed as he ran a hand over his unshaven chin. "A weapon then?"

Eponine nodded. "A pistol."

"Wouldn't a knife or poniard be a little better for you to manage?" Bahorel wondered aloud. "Though I see why you'd prefer a firearm, at least for a diversion. I didn't know you knew how to handle a pistol."

Eponine looked down. "I didn't even use one at the barricade."

"Hercle, now that is your first problem!" Bahorel exclaimed.

"You could teach me," Eponine said, looking at him. "Any of you men could but not all of you would."

"You are a fine marksman. You can contrive something," Therese chimed in.

"My dear, a gun can be ungallant but a hand is surer; it makes a fairer contest when a man knows the weight of what will be dealt to him," Bahorel said.

Therese laughed but more ruefully. "I dare you to say that the next time I must bandage your knuckles."

Now even Eponine couldn't help laughing, but the ache in her body soon forced her to stop. "How do you manage with him?" she asked Therese.

"With difficulty. And staying out of matters such as gunnery," Therese replied.

"Charming!" Bahorel retorted, clearly making some show of looking cross as his mistress flounced back into the room. "Now back to the matter of small arms; I can most likely find you one or a brace of pistols. That is one matter. However a woman bearing arms is still not allowed; you and Claudine have yet to make a case for it."

"There is no time."

"Exactly. Better at least to give a weapon to you than to your brother, he is still too young for it."

"I don't s'pose I'd carry a gun around most days but perhaps only if there is danger."

"Such as from those who know our movements?"

She nodded. "Well you must know that I have a new situation; do you know the Stendhals, Bahorel? I spoke with the lady and she's letting me come to help with their shop."

"Stendhal? Ah, Prouvaire's friend and old schoolfellow. With you there and his mother, that poor boy is now caught in a tempest," he said. "The better that you left before old Ravigard could make the situation untenable. We still do not know if what he was about had anything to do with Notre Dame."

Eponine bit her lip, not liking this bit of news. "Those addresses were good for nothing."

"Some. A few people have been removing. Babet is of course, nowhere to be found."

'Perhaps I should call on Montparnasse and ask what he knows,' Eponine thought. Perhaps it would not be difficult to locate a familiar dandy who had yet to lose his pretensions, and surely it would be safer than approaching Babet or Gueulemer. "When can you give me the pistols?"

"Tomorrow then," Bahorel said before Therese made her appearance to pull him back into the room. "For now though-"

"You ought to do some searching first, Damien," Therese said. "We'll meet again, will we?" she asked Eponine eagerly.

"I think so," Eponine said cordially, already liking this woman's manner.

"Good," Therese replied, her smile turning mischievous before she shut the door.

Eponine could have sworn as she walked away that she heard more laughter and the sound of someone backing up against the wall. 'At least it's better than an alley,' she couldn't help thinking as she went back outside. She bit her lip as she heard in the distance the sounds of church bells tolling the hour: it was now eight in the morning, the hour when Combeferre was sure to be back from the Necker. She had to walk quickly instead of running back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau; sprinting was out of the question in her condition.

When she arrived at the house, she found Musichetta sitting on the stairs, with a rather troubled expression on her face. "Where have you been?" her friend asked, getting to her feet.

"Getting a new situation and some other things. Where is Joly? Is something wrong?" Eponine replied.

"Joly is upstairs," Musichetta said. Her eyes were dark as she looked at her friend. "Eponine, why did that braggart Theodule Gillenormand suddenly decide he had to call on you?"

"He did? When?" Eponine asked incredulously.

"A quarter of an hour ago, and he told me you wrote back to him and he got your letter this morning," Musichetta said sternly. "I told him you were out and you wouldn't be back for a while."

"Chetta, you could have asked him to stay!" the younger girl protested. "All he wrote was that he was back from Dijon, and all I told him was that I wanted to hear of it. It would have been nothing more than a friendly call."

Musichetta crossed her arms. "A friendly call? You really think so?"

"Well, yes. You know that he was a friend to me," Eponine said crossly. "I know we've had our fights, over some of the same reasons that Claudine and Combeferre have now for fighting. But that doesn't mean I should have absolutely nothing to do with him."

"I'm not saying that you should be a complete stranger to him; that's impossible here in Paris," Musichetta argued. "All I'm saying is that you should be clearer as to how matters truly stand between you and him. Do not get his hopes up. For his sake, for your sake, for Enjolras' sake."

Eponine's brow furrowed. "Now what does he have to do with it?"

Musichetta let out a long suffering sigh. "Enjolras has paid you more attention than Theodule Gillenormand and Marius Pontmercy ever did, and combined at that."

"He's my neighbor and well, I help him with politics. We're friends. It's impossible for us to ignore each other," Eponine retorted. "He's not with me like how you are with Joly."

"There's not much use in comparing my situation with yours," Musichetta pointed out.

"Also I s'pose if Enjolras ever meant anything, he would have said so!" Eponine retorted. 'He has no problem speaking to anyone, so if he does feel something he would have mentioned it,' she thought. Somehow the idea was enough to cause a slight pang of uneasiness, but she pinched herself to clear her mind of this notion.

Musichetta shook her head. "Don't say I didn't warn you, Eponine. I don't want to see the two of you get hurt, especially at a time like this."

Eponine bit her lip. "You still shouldn't have told Theodule to go." She looked up at the sound of a door opening upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of her neighbours arguing.

"I can assure you, Combeferre, I'm no invalid. You surely have seen men manage with far worse injuries, and even fight at barricades and emeutes. This is just a simple matter of dealing with every day necessities," Enjolras said tersely. "If I can care for myself, you will be able to rest, which is something that should not be denied to you."

"Yes but an inadvertent movement could set you back days or even weeks," Combeferre replied. "It would be irresponsible for me to sit back when you can injure yourself again."

"It is just walking."

"On a level surface is permissible, but I must insist that you refrain from going downstairs without some sort of assistance!"

Musichetta looked at Eponine. "Combeferre doesn't know you're down here?"

Eponine shook her head. "I couldn't tell him of course."

It was at that moment when Combeferre happened to catch sight of the women on the stairs. The doctor stared at Eponine and then shook his head. "Who allowed you out of the house?" he asked, rubbing his temples.

"I let myself out."

"I told you that you needed three days of rest!" Combeferre retorted exasperatedly. "Why is it also so difficult for you to simply follow instructions?"

"I've had a lot to do, and I'm tired of lying down all day!" Eponine answered. She could see Enjolras and Joly in the upstairs hallway. Enjolras was stoic as he leaned against a wall, but Joly was watching with a bemused expression.

"You could have opened up your wounds again," Combeferre pointed out, shaking his head.

"I didn't. Anyway I wasn't planning to be away for very long and I returned home as soon as I finished with my errands," Eponine said. "You can't say I wasn't being even a little careful."

Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing I can do, not even the best care I can give, will be of use if you insist on not cooperating."

"Yet it is your skill that has allowed Eponine to return to her daily activities in such a short span of time, and with apparently relatively little trouble. This alone should give you less reason to worry," Enjolras observed. For a moment Eponine thought he had caught her eye, long enough to give her a rather conspiratorial look. This was enough to make her smile, but she quickly hid this behind her sleeve.

"Which is why you ought to take my advice, Combeferre: get some sleep, and then once you're ready, go and see Claudine at Picpus," Joly chimed in.

Combeferre nodded reluctantly. "You think I'm ready for it?"

"You are. This isn't a problem that requires flair and doeskin trousers," Joly said. "Musichetta and I are here to help manage with Neville, and also since Eponine is home, so much the better."

Combeferre took a deep breath. "Thank you," he muttered.

Eponine and Musichetta hurried upstairs as Combeferre wearily went to his own room. "Poor man. It's really telling on him," Eponine said as soon as Combeferre had shut his door. "Has there been no word from Claudine?"

"Of course she wouldn't send anything to him," Musichetta said. "I don't know exactly what happened the last time they talked, but they seem to have wounded each other rather deeply."

"At the very least he is willing to make an advance towards some reconciliation. That in itself is a start," Enjolras mused. "I gather though that helping Combeferre isn't your only reason for being here rather early in the morning?"

Joly and Musichetta exchanged looks. "We wanted to tell Combeferre too, but it may have to wait for another time," Joly said, smiling widely. "Musichetta and I have set our wedding for this coming April."

Eponine stared incredulously at her friends while Enjolras voiced his congratulations. "I thought-"

"That we were fighting?" Musichetta said. "Something similar to it but I figured that I didn't want to lose him, and he felt the same way."

Eponine nodded, managing to return her friends' smiles. "I'm happy for both of you. I thought it would be a long time till I'd ever see another wedding."

"It won't be as grand as the Pontmercys' wedding, but I fully intend not to make it shabby either," Musichetta replied.

Eponine grinned, knowing of her friend's tastes. She stepped aside to let Joly and Musichetta meet Neville, who had apparently just woken up. "Well, shall we go downstairs?" she asked Enjolras. "I don't s'pose you can lean on my shoulder, but if you hold on to my arm maybe? It's a good thing your left hand isn't hurt."

He reddened for a moment. "Is there any other way?" he asked. Nevertheless he let her help him down the stairs and then to where they usually sat at the kitchen table.

"I have news from outside," she informed him as soon as he was comfortable.

"That is to be expected," Enjolras said with a knowing smile. "Where did you go?"

Eponine quickly narrated her visit to the Stendhals, particularly the news that Emile had relayed to her. Somehow it felt easier to talk to him this way instead of recalling what Musichetta had warned her about. It was something that provided more answers for once. "What are they saying in the Moniteur?" she asked him when she finished her narrative.

"The same, except for what Stendhal had to say about the Constitutionalists." Enjolras wiggled the fingers of his injured hand, as if testing them. "I should get back to my desk-"

"After all this trouble to come down and you want to go up again?" Eponine laughed. "No, you sit here. I'll get it for you; I know where you keep your things." In a few minutes she returned with some paper as well as his usual pen and some ink. She couldn't help but stop in the doorway when she saw him apparently deep in thought, with his eyes narrowed in the way that she knew they did whenever he was pondering some sort of worry. "Enjolras?" she asked, setting down the materials next to his elbow.

He managed a brief smile as he looked at her. "You knew that when you looked into Citizen Ravigard's books that there would be consequences?"

"I knew he'd be angry," she said. Now that she thought about it, perhaps she had seen it already coming, but had not expected the actual details of it. She shook her head at Enjolras' rather pensive expression as she reached for his arm. "It would have happened some time, Enjolras. I would have had to leave once he knew I was getting curious. You know I like to ask questions, as much as you do."