Chapter Two
Marie wandered farther and farther into the dark woods. She thought she was
going to be lost forever when she saw a fire and tents camped about it. She had nearly
stumbled upon it when someone grabbed her from behind and held a knife to her neck.
She gasped and opened her mouth to scream but the attacker spoke.
"Scream and you'll regret it. Move!" The man gave her a push from behind and
she tumbled into the ring of firelight. She cried out in pain as she landed hard on her
wrist.
"Ah, what have we here?" spoke a different voice. This one was rougher, crueler
somehow.
Marie stood to face these voices and found that one belonged to a short, thin man
with a knife (her attacker), and a very large man who wasn't as dark.
"I'm Marie LeFougueux and I demand to know what is going on."
"LeFougueux!" exclaimed her attacker. "That is a rich a powerful family, Javert!"
Javert's ugly countenance slowly spread into a sly grin.
"LeFougueux . . . then you have money," he said slowly while motioning to the
other man.
Marie clutched her bag instinctively, but the man was stronger. He tore it from her
grasp and dumped out its contents. Marie dove for them, only successfully retrieving the
lyre. Javert grabbed the money and pocketed it.
"What are you going to do with me?" Marie demanded, frightened.
Javert's grin never left his face. "It's not what we're going to do with you. It's
what you're going to do with us."
He and the other man chuckled and Marie screamed.
"I'm not a whore, so don't you think you can have me, you filthy dogs!"
"And just what are you going to do about it?" asked Javert, reaching for the hem
of her dress.
Marie shuddered violently as she felt his dirty fingernails rake against her skin.
She quickly yanked the knife from her attacker and held it tightly against Javert's neck.
"I'll kill you," she said simply, praying she wouldn't have to.
"I don't think so," he murmured, reaching for his own knife.
"You must not think much then," she growled as she pressed the knife deeper into
his neck. It was starting to chafe the skin and she could see tiny red droplets forming
around his collar. Javert tried unsuccessfully to push her away but she kept threatening
with her knife. She had, by now of course, figured out they were gypsies, though Javert
didn't look like one.
"Give me back my money, you gypsies!" she threatened.
Javert was silent and then suddenly agreed. Marie loosened her hold of the knife
and before she knew it, the other man had grabbed it and was holding it to her neck again.
"Ah, the tables have turned!" breathed Javert, rubbing his neck. "Vicious little
thing, aren't you?"
He quickly bound her, the rope cutting into her wrist painfully and she couldn't
help but cry out.
"My wrist! Please, it's broken . . ." but Javert and the man ignored her. Javert ran
his hand across her cheeck, repulsing her.
"Tomorrow . . ."
As soon as the two men had left with her money, she burst into tears. How did she
let herself get into a situation like this? She let her tears run down her dirty face and onto
her no-longer white dress. Her hair was askew and fell wildly into her eyes. She looked
nothing better than a little slattern. But there was nothing she could do about it.
Even though her wrists were bound painfully in front of her, she could still move
her fingers. She stroked the lyre's strings, playing the saddest melody she knew. And
when she knew no more, she continued with her own compositions.
In the corner of her eye, she noticed movement in the bushes off to her side.
"Who's there?" she demanded. "Show yourself at once, and if you have any
intention of robbing me, your efforts will have been in vain. Javert's already done that."
No one answered, but Marie was persistent.
"It's no use trying to hide. I know you're there," she sighed wearily. "And if you
can help me, I'd be delighted," she continued, more to herself than to anyone in
particular. "I broke my wrist earlier this evening and now they're bound painfully
together . . ."
She looked up to find a small boy just beyond the clearing. She couldn't see him
well, except for his eyes which were golden and glowed in the darkness. He made no
movement, but watched her thoughtfully.
With a fleeting hope, she called out, "Little boy! Please, can you help me?"
The boy didn't move and was silent for a while more before he finally spoke.
"I cannot help anybody."
Marie opened her mouth to protest, but his voice struck her as the most beautiful
thing she had ever heard. She had been to many operas, when she travelled with her
parents, and had had the oppurtunity of listening to the greatest voices in the world; and
yet, this little boy's voice surpassed them all! What's more, she thought, it sounds as
though it's right next to me even though he's in the woods over there! Marie forgot her
pain momentarily.
"How did you do that?" she demanded.
The golden eyes kept staring at her.
"Do what?" he asked.
"Make your voice come over here when you are over there? You cannot possibly
be a ventriloquist; you're only a little boy!"
The boy stiffened and seemed to move away.
"It's none of your concern," he said coldly, and yet in a masterful tone. He turned
to leave her, but Marie stopped him.
"Wait! If you didn't show yourself to help me, why did you show yourself at all?"
He stopped, but didn't face her.
"The music . . ."
"The music I played on my lyre?" Marie asked incredulously. "This music?" She
demonstrated her former composition; a sad one.
The boy turned to face her and came a bit closer.
"It's beautiful," he murmured, almost in a trance like state. "But you're playing it
too roughly."
Marie stared at him. A boy barely of twelve years was informing her of how she
should play her lyre!
"How would you know?" she retorted scornfully.
He shrank back so far into the woods Marie could barely see his eyes.
"Come back!" she pouted. "Don't leave me alone!"
But the golden eyes were gone.
Marie wandered farther and farther into the dark woods. She thought she was
going to be lost forever when she saw a fire and tents camped about it. She had nearly
stumbled upon it when someone grabbed her from behind and held a knife to her neck.
She gasped and opened her mouth to scream but the attacker spoke.
"Scream and you'll regret it. Move!" The man gave her a push from behind and
she tumbled into the ring of firelight. She cried out in pain as she landed hard on her
wrist.
"Ah, what have we here?" spoke a different voice. This one was rougher, crueler
somehow.
Marie stood to face these voices and found that one belonged to a short, thin man
with a knife (her attacker), and a very large man who wasn't as dark.
"I'm Marie LeFougueux and I demand to know what is going on."
"LeFougueux!" exclaimed her attacker. "That is a rich a powerful family, Javert!"
Javert's ugly countenance slowly spread into a sly grin.
"LeFougueux . . . then you have money," he said slowly while motioning to the
other man.
Marie clutched her bag instinctively, but the man was stronger. He tore it from her
grasp and dumped out its contents. Marie dove for them, only successfully retrieving the
lyre. Javert grabbed the money and pocketed it.
"What are you going to do with me?" Marie demanded, frightened.
Javert's grin never left his face. "It's not what we're going to do with you. It's
what you're going to do with us."
He and the other man chuckled and Marie screamed.
"I'm not a whore, so don't you think you can have me, you filthy dogs!"
"And just what are you going to do about it?" asked Javert, reaching for the hem
of her dress.
Marie shuddered violently as she felt his dirty fingernails rake against her skin.
She quickly yanked the knife from her attacker and held it tightly against Javert's neck.
"I'll kill you," she said simply, praying she wouldn't have to.
"I don't think so," he murmured, reaching for his own knife.
"You must not think much then," she growled as she pressed the knife deeper into
his neck. It was starting to chafe the skin and she could see tiny red droplets forming
around his collar. Javert tried unsuccessfully to push her away but she kept threatening
with her knife. She had, by now of course, figured out they were gypsies, though Javert
didn't look like one.
"Give me back my money, you gypsies!" she threatened.
Javert was silent and then suddenly agreed. Marie loosened her hold of the knife
and before she knew it, the other man had grabbed it and was holding it to her neck again.
"Ah, the tables have turned!" breathed Javert, rubbing his neck. "Vicious little
thing, aren't you?"
He quickly bound her, the rope cutting into her wrist painfully and she couldn't
help but cry out.
"My wrist! Please, it's broken . . ." but Javert and the man ignored her. Javert ran
his hand across her cheeck, repulsing her.
"Tomorrow . . ."
As soon as the two men had left with her money, she burst into tears. How did she
let herself get into a situation like this? She let her tears run down her dirty face and onto
her no-longer white dress. Her hair was askew and fell wildly into her eyes. She looked
nothing better than a little slattern. But there was nothing she could do about it.
Even though her wrists were bound painfully in front of her, she could still move
her fingers. She stroked the lyre's strings, playing the saddest melody she knew. And
when she knew no more, she continued with her own compositions.
In the corner of her eye, she noticed movement in the bushes off to her side.
"Who's there?" she demanded. "Show yourself at once, and if you have any
intention of robbing me, your efforts will have been in vain. Javert's already done that."
No one answered, but Marie was persistent.
"It's no use trying to hide. I know you're there," she sighed wearily. "And if you
can help me, I'd be delighted," she continued, more to herself than to anyone in
particular. "I broke my wrist earlier this evening and now they're bound painfully
together . . ."
She looked up to find a small boy just beyond the clearing. She couldn't see him
well, except for his eyes which were golden and glowed in the darkness. He made no
movement, but watched her thoughtfully.
With a fleeting hope, she called out, "Little boy! Please, can you help me?"
The boy didn't move and was silent for a while more before he finally spoke.
"I cannot help anybody."
Marie opened her mouth to protest, but his voice struck her as the most beautiful
thing she had ever heard. She had been to many operas, when she travelled with her
parents, and had had the oppurtunity of listening to the greatest voices in the world; and
yet, this little boy's voice surpassed them all! What's more, she thought, it sounds as
though it's right next to me even though he's in the woods over there! Marie forgot her
pain momentarily.
"How did you do that?" she demanded.
The golden eyes kept staring at her.
"Do what?" he asked.
"Make your voice come over here when you are over there? You cannot possibly
be a ventriloquist; you're only a little boy!"
The boy stiffened and seemed to move away.
"It's none of your concern," he said coldly, and yet in a masterful tone. He turned
to leave her, but Marie stopped him.
"Wait! If you didn't show yourself to help me, why did you show yourself at all?"
He stopped, but didn't face her.
"The music . . ."
"The music I played on my lyre?" Marie asked incredulously. "This music?" She
demonstrated her former composition; a sad one.
The boy turned to face her and came a bit closer.
"It's beautiful," he murmured, almost in a trance like state. "But you're playing it
too roughly."
Marie stared at him. A boy barely of twelve years was informing her of how she
should play her lyre!
"How would you know?" she retorted scornfully.
He shrank back so far into the woods Marie could barely see his eyes.
"Come back!" she pouted. "Don't leave me alone!"
But the golden eyes were gone.