Chapter LIII

Monsieur Fauchelevant stood alone in his room, peering through the open window and looking out at the moonlit street. Everything was quiet now. At last, the house was asleep. After all of the pain, the fear, and the suffering of this night, everything had finally come to an end. At least for now, the storm had passed, and the world it had left behind was dark and silent.

They had asked Monsieur Thevenin to stay the night in case something happened and Enjolras needed him before the morning. He readily agreed, and Monsieur Fauchelevant had showed him to a spare room where he could sleep for the night. Not long after this, Cosette had gone upstairs to her room accompanied by Marius, who told the others that he would be back soon. He had not come back.

Monsieur Fauchelevant turned away from the window, left his room, and went down the hall until he came to Cosette's door. It was nearly shut, but there was a small gap between the door and the frame. Moving silently and stealthy, almost like a burglar, but not dark or menacing with the intent to do evil, more like an angel come in the night, quiet and peaceful with the intent to protect, he gently pushed the door open with the tips of his fingers. It opened noiselessly before him, and Cosette's room came into his view.

Her window was open. Silver moonlight fell through this window and a gentle breeze was blowing into the room, causing the white curtains to dance like ghosts glowing in the darkness. A dim flame still burned in the candle that sat on the stand beside her bed. She always put this light out before going to sleep. But tonight, she seemed to have forgotten. She was already asleep.

Cosette was lying in her bed, her eyes closed, her face peaceful and beautiful, like the face of an angel, her arms wrapped tightly around Marius, who lay in the bed beside her, her head resting upon his chest. They were both asleep, but even still they clung tightly to one another, for comfort, and for protection, and for love.

When Cosette had gone up to her room to go to bed, Marius went with her, with the intentions of wishing her goodnight and then returning to stay with Monsieur Fauchelevant and Grantaire. But once he told her that he loved her, promised her that he would see her in the morning, gently kissed her cheek, and turned to leave, Cosette took hold of his hand and asked him to stay. She was afraid to let him leave, even if only for the night. She was afraid that if she let him out of her grasp, even for a moment, then she would lose him again and he would be gone. "Just stay for a little while," she pleaded him. "Only for a short while longer…"

"Alright, for a short while," he agreed, and she gratefully move over in her bed to make room for him. He lied down beside her, and they wrapped their arms around each other. Holding each other tightly and safe in one another's arms, it was not long before they had fallen asleep.

Monsieur Fauchelevant looked into the room and saw them together, sleeping in the warm embrace of the other's arms. At the same time, he felt a gently happiness, but also a deep sadness come into his heart. Cosette was happy now. She and Marius were both happy. They were together now. Marius was safe, and Cosette was no longer alone. Monsieur Fauchelevant had been longing, praying for this moment. God had heard his prayers and brought Marius home. Now, at last, he and Cosette could be together. They were together, and happy, and safe, and their love for one another would never die. Monsieur Fauchelevant was happy for this. He loved his daughter so much. All he ever wanted was for her to be happy.

But at this same time, even as gratitude and relief came into his heart, this same heart trembled with pain. A deep emptiness came into him and filled him, as he looked upon his beloved, precious daughter, whom he had raised since she was a child, who had given hope and light back into his dark life, who was all of the love, the beauty, and the joy of his entire world. All of those memories of when she was a child, when he had found her alone in the woods, when he had bought her a doll that was nearly larger than she was and that she called "the Lady," when he had taken her to live with him, how she had fallen asleep in his arms, how happy she was, how quickly she trusted him even from the beginning, how much she loved him for the very start. He thought of the days after these, how he watched her grow from day to day, leave behind that small, helpless child and bloom into a beautiful young woman. He thought of all the time that they would pass together, of the days when they would walk together around Paris, and of the nights when they would go out to the garden and look up at the stars. He loved her so much. She was his entire world. Now, she was in the arms of another.

Monsieur Fauchelevant's heart ached, and he knew that Cosette no longer belonged to him. He knew that he would have to let her go. He would have to say goodbye. Looked sadly into the room, he and gazed upon these two sleeping children, Cosette and Marius. They really loved each other. They would make each other happy. Monsieur Fauchelevant let out a heavy sigh. She was never mine to keep, he thought. While this thought saddened him, it also somehow brought him comfort. It grieved him to know that Cosette would be gone, but somehow, he knew that this was the way that things were supposed to be. This was God's plan for her and for him. Let it be, he silently spoke to God. Let it be. She is happy. She is free.

He went across the room on silent feet, and softly blew out the candle beside her bed. Then he turned to look down at Cosette and Marius. He carefully took the blanket on the bed and pulled it up higher around their shoulders. He gazed longingly and lovingly upon Cosette for a moment longer, before he gently placed a kiss upon her forehead. Then he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

He went quietly through the house, down the stairs, and back to the room where Grantaire was staying with Enjolras. Grantaire had fallen asleep in his chair, his arm resting on the corner of the table and his head lying upon his arm. He did not look very comfortable in this position, and Monsieur Fauchelevant doubted that he would be able to get a proper sleep. He considered waking Grantaire and telling him to go sleep on the couch or in one of the spare bedrooms, but he decided against it. If Grantaire woke up, Monsieur Fauchelevant knew that he would not go back to sleep. Even as exhausted and weak as he was, Grantaire would want to stay away and stay with Enjolras. Monsieur Fauchelevant let him alone.

Enjolras was still asleep, but now he was beginning to stir. His face tightened into a look of pain, he slightly turned his head to the side, and he let out a soft moan. Monsieur Fauchelevant knew that the pain was penetrating through his unconsciousness and disturbing him even in his sleep. Moving quietly, as not to wake Grantaire, he went around the table and stood bedside Enjolras. He gently touched his hand to Enjolras's forehead. Enjolras felt warmer than he should have, but not so burning hot like before. His temperature had gone down greatly, but a light fever still remained. Monsieur Fauchelevant wet a clean cloth with cold water and gently placed it upon Enjolras's forehead. Then he carefully lifted the fabric that was pressed against his stomach to check his wounds. He was carefully rubbing more ointment onto his wound when a soft and weak voice broke the silence.

"Jean Valjean."

Monsieur Fauchelevant's body turned to ice. His heart froze, his stomach dropped, his skin prickled with goose bumps, and an icy chill fell over his entire body, turning it as stiff and as still as stone. This weak voice, these two words came at him like a bullet to the chest, like a dagger to the gut, like a cold blade of fear stabbing him straight into his heart. This name that he had thought he had escaped, this name that that he had he had not heard uttered in over eight years had finally found him again. He could never be free.

He abruptly raised his eyes and looked frantically around the room to see who was listening, like a thief who had been caught in the act of the robbery. Grantaire was still asleep. Marius, Cosette, and Thevenin were no where to be seen. They were all still asleep. A faint relief fell over him, and he suddenly turned his eyes to look down at Enjolras.

Enjolras was awake. His eyes, red and tried, bruised and swollen, sickly and dark, were open, and he was looking up at Monsieur Fauchelevant. It was Enjolras who had spoken. It was Enjolras who had learned the truth. Enjolras, this wounded, this bleeding, this weak, this dying man whose life Monsieur Fauchelevant had saved, it was this man who now had the power to throw Jean Valjean's life back into the world of darkness. The prisons. The very hell from which Enjolras had just escaped.

"What did you say?" Monsieur Fauchelevant whispered. His voice was thin and soft, weak and afraid, a manner of which Enjolras, Marius, Grantaire, and Cosette had never heard him speak.

"I know who you are," Enjolras said quietly, his voice weak. His words were dry and void of emotion. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking. He seemed to be in some state of shock. There was an empty and vacant look in his eyes that confirmed this. He did not seem to be able to think completely clearly or to be able to fully understand what was happening. It was apparent that everything that he said was, or at last he believed to be, truth.

He paused for a moment before he added, "Javert told me."

"Javert?!" Monsieur Fauchelevant repeated. At the mention of this name, the blade of fear struck his heart again, even more terribly than before.

"Yes," Enjolras answered. "He wanted me to help him find you. He wanted me to turn you in."

"I told him that I did not know anything, and that if I did I would not tell him."

"You did not tell him anything?" he cried anxiously.

"No."

Sudden relief came pouring into Monsieur Fauchelevant's heart like rivers. But only a moment later, dread came into him, as well, as the truth dawned on him. Enjolras had been tortured, had been through so much suffering and pain, and was now wounded, ill, devoured, and dying, because Javert wanted to find Jean Valjean. Enjolras was now in this condition, because he refused to tell Javert anything. He had sacrificed his own life for his friends and for Jean Valjean.

Monsieur Fauchelevant opened his lips and in a soft voice, nearly a whisper, he reluctantly said, "This… This is why they were torturing you? Because you refused to give him any information about me?"

"And about my friends," Enjolras said quietly. "He wanted me to betray you and my friends… Give him names… Addresses… I cannot remember what else."

"You did not tell him anything," Monsieur Fauchelevant said softly. It was not a question. He already knew that it was true.

Enjolras weakly shook his head. "Nothing."

"Monsieur…" Monsieur Fauchelevant whispered, gently taking hold of Enjolras's hand. "Monsieur, God bless you! You are so brave, so strange… Monsieur, I owe you my life."

But Enjolras shook his head. He closed his eyes and let out a painful sigh. It was becoming obvious to Monsieur Fauchelevant that he would not be able to stay awake for much long. Without even opening his eyes, Enjolras mumbled, "You saved my life."

Monsieur Fauchelevant let out a soft sigh. He had saved Enjolras's life at the barricade, and in his refusal to betray him, the brave young man had suffered so much, agony worse than death. Monsieur Fauchelevant did not believe that anything that he had done for Enjolras could have amounted to the pain that Enjolras had suffered for him. Yet, now he would have to ask even more of him. "Monsieur Enjolras," he whispered softly, and with much effort Enjolras opened his eyes. "Monsieur, please, promise me that you will not tell anyone what you know. No one can know. Especially Cosette. That name… you cannot call me that… Please, monsieur? You must keep this a secret."

"I will not tell anyone," Enjolras promised. "Monsieur, I owe my life to you. I will not tell anyone. I will not betray you." He had barely spoken these words, and then he was asleep again.