Chapter 51: Confronting Truth

It was just as fortunate for Enjolras that the lady of the Lafontaine house was not particularly intent on making conversation with him; otherwise he might have found it impossible to rejoin the rest of the guests. He was sure that he could have found his way back to the ballroom even with his eyes closed; the hearty strains of the mazurka, the steps and bustle of the dancers and spectators, and even the hubbub of people were almost palpable. 'In such a situation though, an extended conversation is rather difficult,' he noted as he surveyed the crowd. He immediately spotted Feuilly and Leonor among the dancers, as well as Prouvaire and Azelma talking to the Lafontaine girls. He felt a little uneasy on noticing that his mother and Eponine were still seemingly absent from this revelry. 'Perhaps they are discussing some points of politics,' he thought as he stepped aside to avoid treading on a lady's gown.

He heard someone call his name and he turned to see his friend Rossi waving to him. Rossi was with a rather sallow-looking man with a shock of gray hair that almost covered his eyes. "Enjolras, may I introduce our colleague Citizen Gabriel Mathieu," Rossi said eagerly. "Citizen Mathieu, meet Citizen Enjolras," he said in turn to his companion.

"A pleasure to meet you, Citizen. Congratulations on your winning the election," Enjolras said cordially, recognizing the name of the new representative from the Chaillot district.

Mathieu shook his hair out of his eyes before nodding politely to Enjolras. "I hear you are already well prepared for our first day in office," he remarked. "I cannot expect any less from someone who has more than acquitted himself in this very eventful campaign."

'Eventful being an understatement,' Enjolras thought, recalling some of the nearly lethal turns that the campaign had taken. "Perhaps the coming weeks will prove to be more fortuitous," he said.

"I fear you may be disappointed especially with all these continued factions that will make passing any law akin to putting a camel through an eye of a needle," Mathieu pointed out. "I thought your experiences in the past few weeks would have made it clear enough."

"Enjolras is an eternal idealist," Rossi explained to Mathieu. "He strives for nothing less than the best possible outcome."

"That is an interesting perspective to bring into public service," Mathieu mused, looking Enjolras over from head to toe. His cracked lips twisted slightly as he gestured to where the mazurka was now ending. "This soiree must be quite startling for some of your fellow Radicaux members."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow knowing that this was probably a reference to Feuilly and Leonor, who were within Mathieu's line of sight. "Should it be?"

"Perhaps not. It only stands to reason that you will have little time for such diversions," Mathieu commented. "I heard talk that one of the first things you will be seeing to is the issue of reforming the penal code and abolishing the death penalty?"

"It is."

"Is that going to encompass all instances, even when the interest of public safety may be compromised?" the older man asked.

Rossi paled slightly at these words. "I don't like the term public safety."

"It is a much abused phrase," Enjolras answered. "The time for using violence as an immediate means of securing the common good is now at an end. Lasting freedom must be founded on agreement, not merely the silencing of discord."

Mathieu nodded slowly. "At least you are cognizant of history."

Before either of the young men could say anything to this, a screech sounded from one end of the ballroom. A crowd was gathering around where a man had apparently been knocked to the ground in a sort of scuffle. An elderly physician was already at the scene, trying to assist the victim.

Rossi blanched at this sight. "I didn't hear a challenge."

"Perhaps there wasn't one," Enjolras replied, aware now of Auguste shouting from someplace for help while other people urged the rest of the guests to stay calm. He saw someone holding up a white card, with yet another drawing of a guillotine on it. Just a few paces away, a door suddenly swung shut, as if someone had just made an exit. Feuilly had seen this as well, and was now already making his way past the disturbance.

"Can't find Prouvaire," Feuilly said when he and Enjolras met at the door.

"Isn't he with Azelma?" Enjolras asked. A quick glance at the crowd told him that Azelma was still with the Lafontaines, but the poet was nowhere in sight. He pushed this unsettling fact aside as he and Feuilly discreetly stepped out into a long, winding hallway. 'This probably leads out to the kitchen,' Enjolras thought, hearing the clatter of dishes from one end of the corridor. Suddenly the telltale sound of furniture crashing to the ground followed by a startled yelp came from the left side of the hallway, near a narrow stairwell. Enjolras and Feuilly ran into a darkened room in time to see Prouvaire grappling with a burly man clad in a domino. Before anyone could help him, the poet managed to knock his assailant out cold with a well-aimed punch to the face.

"Prouvaire! What happened?" Feuilly asked, managing to catch the poet by an arm.

"I'm fine," Prouvaire said, breathing heavily. He had a split lip and his clothes were torn in some places. "This one jumped me when I followed his friend. The man from the ballroom went out the window."

Enjolras ran to the open window, in time to catch sight of a dark figure racing through the garden. "Lafontaine is still in the ballroom. He has to know about this," he instructed before quickly heading back into the hallway and to the front door of the house.

It was fortunate that winter had stripped most of the foliage from the Lafontaines' gardens, thus giving Enjolras a rather clearer view of the premises. He raced down to where this unknown messenger was trying to leave via a side gate. Enjolras saw this man reach into his coat and pull out a pistol but he swiftly dealt a kick to this man's arm, forcing him to drop the gun. The man screamed as he clutched at his broken arm, giving Enjolras enough time to grab him by his collar and push him to the ground.

"You're a messenger. Who sent you here?" Enjolras demanded.

The man squirmed and tried to get free. "Some fellow," he whimpered.

"Who has a name, I'm certain?" Enjolras asked, tightening his grip on his would-be assailant.

The messenger paled visibly. "I'll be dead if I say."

In the meantime, Feuilly ran up to this scene, and shook his head after a brief survey of the situation. "That other man might not have been his accomplice after all. He might have been there to ensure that the job was done," he informed Enjolras in an undertone over the shouts and footsteps of various people approaching the scene.

"Where are-oh good Lord-someone run down to the police right away!" Auguste Lafontaine shouted as he pushed his way past some onlookers. He quickly directed his servants to search and then tie up the man while another person went to summon the authorities. "We'll have him apprehended straight away," he told his guests. "I believe he was trespassing."

A quick search of this unfortunate's pockets revealed yet another pistol, an envelope full of hundred franc notes, and seven more cards, all of them marked with the same drawing of a guillotine. 'Perhaps holding them up to a lamp might reveal more,' Enjolras thought, noticing how the paper seemed wrinkled in some places. "What about the man Prouvaire accosted?' he asked Auguste.

"Already taken care of," Auguste said, sounding a little shaken. "Those cards with guillotines...are those meant to be death threats?"

"So it might seem," Enjolras replied. It would be the third occasion in the span of one week that he'd seen these cards, and on all three instances this was on the right bank of the Seine. 'Perhaps the origin isn't far from here,' he thought as he followed Feuilly and Auguste back to the house.

Prouvaire met them at the front doorway. "The other man is begging not to be taken to the Prefecture. He said that he can lead you to the location of a certain Olivier Magnon," he asked Enjolras.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this bit of information. "A far too ready turncoat."

Feuilly shook his head. "This has everything of a trap about it."

"I know. Which is why the Surete will have to deal with these informants; they will be more useful than any other physical evidence such as the notes," Enjolras replied calmly. 'We cannot afford to delve any deeper into this investigation,' he decided. Far too many people were becoming entangled in this increasingly dangerous confusion.

Feuilly stuck his hands in his pockets. "You used savate on that gunman, didn't you?"

"I did."

"He's lucky to be alive then, getting away with only a broken arm."

Auguste started on hearing this. "I've fenced with you before, Enjolras, but savate..." he trailed off in disbelief. "Do you also practice it as well, Citizen Feuilly?"

Feuilly's face was grim as he nodded briefly. "I learned before I left the Midi."

"The same must be true for you, Citizen Enjolras?" Auguste inquired.

"He did not learn it in Aix," a distinctly feminine voice cut in. The men turned to see Monique standing in the hall, with a grim expression on her face. "Citizens, I must be a little rude but I have to speak with my son," the woman said. "In private."

"Should I conduct you both to a sitting room?" Auguste asked Monique.

"I do not think it will be necessary, Citizen, but thank you for the offer," Monique replied graciously. She waited for the rest of the group to withdraw to the ballroom before looking her only child in the eye. "You learned that in Marseille, didn't you?"

Enjolras swallowed hard even as he stood up straighter. Why was his mother bringing this up now? "That was where I first saw it in practice," he replied candidly. Since then, he'd picked up the art from a few acquaintances in Paris.

"I see. Does Eponine know that happened also in Marseille?"

"What?"

"I guessed that you told her something, but she was the one who told me to ask you if I wanted to know anything of it. You found yourself an excellent confidante; she wouldn't betray anything you said," Monique said bitterly.

"Was that why you asked to talk with her?" Enjolras asked tersely.

"I was originally asking her about how you two were enjoying this party. Then I had to hazard a guess; it has nothing to do with anything she said," Monique replied. She twisted a handkerchief between her fingers before speaking again. "You could have told me too all those years ago."

'Not at a time when she wouldn't have understood it completely,' he thought. He could almost see again his mother's aghast expression on the morning he and his friends arrived back in Aix, after walking perhaps half of the way from Marseille. 'It was as if she didn't recognize me anymore,' he recalled, trying not to show any sign of flinching at the memory."I mentioned what happened: our plans went awry, and we had to stay behind in Marseille to assist our hosts. It would have been the height of ingratitude to simply leave them unaided in their respective predicaments."

Monique sighed as she began to pace. "Something terrible happened there, I am sure of it. Something that frightened you and your friends. You were never the easiest child to understand, Antoine, but I feel as if you never completely returned from Marseille."

Enjolras shook his head. "I believe that when I returned, you met more of me than before I left."

Monique stopped pacing. "More of you? You used to laugh; when you returned, you hardly ever did. You returned on foot when before, I had never liked the idea of you wandering off so far!"

"My mind became clearer," Enjolras explained. He swallowed hard on seeing his mother's sceptical expression. "We were there for three months, among strangers. We had to learn to fend for ourselves."

"Tell me how."

"Should I begin with what happened at the fonctionnaire's offices or with the docks?"

Her jaw dropped as she gripped her handkerchief more tightly. "The first, I understand; they are incredibly frustrating anywhere in this country. The docks though-"

"I spent three days there helping unload some of the ships. I was taking the place of a man who'd gotten jailed on a false charge," Enjolras said slowly.

"Were you hurt there?"

"Not severely, as you can see."

She leaned against a wall as she shook her head. "Why didn't any of you boys write if you needed money?" she asked at length.

"That would not have solved the problem, or even arrived in time," he said. It had been the first time he'd ever learned how it was for an entire household to rely on a man daily wage in order to purchase a middling amount of bread, learning not to place his hopes on any windfall from afar.

Monique sighed deeply. "Even if your father and I couldn't have done much then to assist you, I wish you'd told us what happened. For our peace of mind, as well as yours."

"My peace of mind?"

"Were you really planning to take that story to your grave? Impossible even for you! It's good that you chose to at least tell Eponine about it. There is at least one person in the world you trust that much."

"More than one. I also had to tell Combeferre and Courfeyrac," Enjolras admitted.

"That was more to be expected." Monique's expression was contrite when she spoke again. "I fear that I might have been unduly harsh when I spoke with Eponine. I was only surprised that you'd taken her into your confidence so easily, but I must have made it sound more caustic. Please extend my apologies to her, even if I do intend to speak with you both tomorrow before your father and I have to leave."

Enjolras nodded slowly. "I shall. Is there anything more you wish to discuss?"

"This will do for tonight; I do not wish to deprive you completely of the chance to enjoy yourself," Monique said over the sound of the ballroom door opening. Her expression grew quizzical at the sight of people filing out into the front hall. "It's far too early for the evening to end!"

Enjolras shrugged as he looked to where Auguste and Angelique Lafontaine were apologizing to some of the guests, including Prouvaire and Azelma. Prouvaire glanced his way and traced a square in the air. Enjolras nodded sternly, realizing what this meant. 'The investigation at the Prefecture might not be enough to clear up the conjectures about the card that was found in the ballroom,' he thought as he went to his friends.

"The older Lafontaines said it's no longer safe to continue the festivities," Prouvaire explained. "A bit of a disappointment; there were quite a lot of old friends here I hadn't seen in some time, and who were telling me about some interesting compositions."

"I see. Will you both be heading back to the Latin Quartier?" Enjolras replied.

"We won't be going home right away; we'll be with them," Azelma said, pointing to where some of the ladies were congregating. "There's a little entertainment at someone's house. Music. You and my sister should come along; it would be fun."

"Not this time," Enjolras said. 'Especially since we were not specifically invited to join them,' he decided silently. "We'll be at the Musain tomorrow, for Feuilly's sending off celebration."

"Noontime, if I remember?" Prouvaire asked. "It's a good hour for a sober sort of toast."

'And the only hour left for everyone to gather, as Feuilly will probably spend the evening attending to last minute preparations,' Enjolras mused. He nodded to Auguste and Angelique. "Thank you for this evening's event. Hopefully we will meet again at a more fortuitous time," he said to them.

"To discuss more social matters, instead of politics. It has been a while," Auguste quipped. "Perhaps before the first of March? I know that is the first session of the legislature."

"Yes, before that day would be best," Enjolras replied. After bidding goodbye to his hosts, he finally found Eponine as she was retrieving her coat from the cloakroom.

Before he could say a word, she caught his gaze and sighed. "We have to go home."

"Don't you wish to join your sister?" he asked, gesturing to where Azelma and Prouvaire were still standing in the foyer.

"No. I'd hardly know what to do there; not with them so intent on being merry and me not knowing much of music," she replied with a shrug.

Enjolras paused, noticing the slightly wan tone in Eponine's answer. He touched her back lightly. "Are you well?"

"If you mean that I am not ill, then yes I am," Eponine replied, squeezing his arm. "I've only had a long day, and a good deal to think about. You need not fret."

"I see," Enjolras said before he and Eponine went to make a last round of goodbyes. It took a little while before they could find a fiacre that would take them back to the Latin Quartier. By this time it was about eleven in the evening.

He couldn't help but notice that Eponine did not say anything but only watched the darkened streets from the fiacre window, all the while absent-mindedly fiddling with her gloves. "My mother said that she wishes to apologize for how your conversation turned out," he said at length.

"I s'pose she was right to be upset, at least with you. That was a little terrible of you to do it," Eponine replied, managing a wry smile. "You're an only son, that's why she can't help it."

"I also saw things differently then, and so did she," Enjolras said. He had to admit though that Monique's assessment was correct in the sense that he would never have been able to be wholly silent about the matter for the entirety of his life. "At the very least this misunderstanding has been cleared up."

"So it was a doubly good thing that your parents came all the way here," Eponine remarked, shifting so that she was practically nestled against him. "You wouldn't want to have to wait months of years to go back to Aix just to explain it."

'If it even would have come up,' he thought, brushing a strand of hair behind Eponine's ear. He heard her sigh as she leaned further into his touch. "The rest of the evening's events are a more urgent cause of concern now."

"Oh, the fight and that card that was found?" Eponine asked. "That man who'd been attacked in the ballroom was actually the clerk of that Citizen Mathieu. I am not sure why it wasn't given straight to his employer since that would have been easier to manage. It's good there was that doctor there, Citizen Bayard, to help take care of him."

Enjolras frowned at this added turn to the mystery. "It's out of our hands now though. The Surete now has two persons who may be convinced to reveal what they know of the scheme."

"For a very dear price, I am sure of it," Eponine said, looking at him worriedly. "Tonight makes three times in one week: first the Place Vendome, then your parents' lodgings, and then now here. Maybe the cards come from the same bank of the Seine."

"Perhaps," he said. 'It would help narrow down the area the Surete would have to search in,' he realized. He saw Eponine bite her lip as she tugged again at her gloves. "Did something else happen at the soiree?" he asked.

"Yes, but maybe I can't tell you about it yet," Eponine said. She clasped his hand when she saw him frown. "I will tell you about it, when I've done some thinking."

"On what?"

"Something rather important."

'What could it be?' Enjolras wondered but he knew better than to inquire further as to the specifics. "Eponine, did you at least enjoy the evening at some point?" he asked worriedly.

"I did. The first part of it. I don't even mind that we couldn't dance."

"At least there's that," Enjolras said, touching the back of her neck. He did not feel her relax under his hand, but she at least clasped his fingers and leaned further into him, as if seeking some warmth. They were silent the rest of the way back to the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau. When they arrived at the tenement, they had to let themselves in using Eponine's passkey.

Eponine squinted as she stepped into the front hall. "Someone's asleep here," she whispered, tiptoeing up to a small shape curled up in a chair. "It's only Jacques."

"What was he waiting for?" Enjolras asked in consternation.

"I s'pose he worries a little in his own way," Eponine said as she scooped up her brother. "I'll take care of him."

"Are you sure you do not need help?" he asked, only to have her shake her head. He gritted his teeth before he followed her upstairs to the hallway. It was not like Eponine to be this melancholic, even on her worst days.

Eponine paused to look at him before she let herself into her room. "Tomorrow then. I'll tell you what it was about."

"That would be best," Enjolras said. "Good night, Eponine."

It was only at that moment that an actual smile crossed her face. "Good night, Antoine."

Enjolras felt his breath catch at this, perhaps at the softer way that she had said his name. Despite the rather tumultuous events of the evening, he found that he was quite unable to sleep, or at least to fall into that deep slumber he knew he needed. He did not know how long he tossed and turned, or how long he managed to doze, but he figured it had to be about an hour before dawn when he opened his eyes to the sound of rain battering hard against the roof. 'It didn't seem last night as if there was a storm coming in,' he thought as he got dressed, remembering now that there was no bread left in the kitchen for this morning's breakfast; he'd have to go to the nearest bakery and get two or three loaves before anyone else in the house woke up.

When he went downstairs, carrying his coat with him in the meantime instead of wearing it, he saw Eponine sitting on the front step of the house, looking anxiously out at the rain. She was wearing a plain blue work dress, and her hair was simply tied back with a ribbon instead of being swept up in pins and combs. There was something surer and even more alluring about this familiar way of hers, even in light of her elegance the previous evening. Somehow he felt the urge to go up to her, to see if she was feeling any better from the night before and perhaps to finally find out what had been on her mind. "Good morning Eponine," he greeted her.

She smiled when she turned to look at him. "I s'pose we thought the same thing, Antoine," she replied by way of greeting.

"The fact that someone has to see to breakfast?" he deadpanned as he put aside his coat and then sat beside her. He realized that she was not wearing her usual gloves but he decided not to comment on it when he felt her slip her fingers between his.

"Yes, though I was also talking about not being able to sleep," she said.

"Likewise," he replied more ruefully. Even over the sound of the rain, he could hear the sound of a bell tolling the hour; it was only five in the morning. "Perhaps we should wait for this downpour to end first."

"I don't s'pose it will for a while; the rain has a way of going on so especially during winter," Eponine said. "Now I shall tell you. You saw there were lancers at the dance last night. Citizen Gillenormand was among them. He was very, very cross with me."

"What did he say?" Enjolras asked, hoping he still kept his tone level.

"He asked the oddest thing; why I chose you. Not why I didn't choose anyone else. There is a difference," she replied.

Enjolras gritted his teeth. "That was not his place to ask."

"I know but I s'pose he couldn't help at least thinking of it," she said as she touched his knee lightly. "You know what I said to him?"

"You probably told him that he wouldn't understand," he remarked, idly running his fingers through the ends of her hair.

"It sounded that way when I was telling him to leave," she said wryly. "I shouldn't have let it worry me; I know you were thinking that I was acting peculiar. "

"Rather dispirited," he pointed out.

She nodded ruefully. "I do have another thing to say to that question."

"Which would be?" he asked, leaning in closer to better hear her answer. At that moment he unexpectedly felt something hard collide with his forehead, forcing him to draw back. As the pain dulled, he saw that Eponine was also clutching her brow, wincing slightly. It took him a moment before he could speak again. "Eponine, did you just try to-"

"I would have if you'd stayed still!" she exclaimed with dismay as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her eyes flashed with mortification and disappointment as she moved as if to get to her feet. "I s'pose that it was not the answer you were expecting."

"It's an answer nevertheless, Eponine," he said quickly as he grabbed her hand. She sighed and sat down next to him, resting her chin in her hands. He touched her cheek, prompting her to look at him confusedly. Before he could second-guess himself, Enjolras pressed his lips to hers, just long enough so that he was sure she would feel it. As he pulled away he saw her eyes widening with disbelief. "That wasn't untoward, I hope?" he asked worriedly.

"No, not at all! Never from you!" she laughed, reaching up to touch his hair, then moving her hand to run over his forehead and his cheeks. "I thought I would have to ask you first. I know I'm the only woman you'd ever kiss this way," she said, smiling widely as she traced his lips with her fingers.

'She is correct about that,' he realized, fully aware that he was also smiling now, but thankfully there was no one else around to comment on it. He slipped an arm around her waist. "I am sure this was not how you thought this conversation would go," he said at last.

She laughed again and shook her head. "I'm not complaining, Antoine."

"Nor am I," he concurred, letting her sit close to him as they waited for the rain to stop.