Chapter Three
Marie woke to a rough jar and pain in her wrist. She moaned, remembering where
she was: in a gypsy camp. She sat up, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes when a voice
spoke.
"Hey! She's up! Look at her!" jeered a sniggering voice. Marie was grateful she
had hidden her lyre in her bodice, as best as she could.
She felt something poke her in her side and another voice cried, "Let's see what
she looks like under the dress!"
Marie started to scream when she heard Javert's voice. "She's not for you! Only
for the paying customers!"
She cringed and started to cry. Was this the way she was going to live her life? As
a trashy whore? I wish Mother and Father could see me now, she thought bitterly. Javert
yanked her to her feet.
"Stop blubbering! I want you cleaned and ready by tonight."
Marie protested. "Please my wrist, it's broken! Isn't there a doctor around?"
Javert didn't even look at her wrist.
"It's not broken. Besides, I don't know if you'll bring in enough money for me to
get you a doctor."
"Well you won't because I'm not, and won't be a prostitute!" Marie spat
contemptuously.
Javert grabbed her and held her close. Marie shuddered at the stench of his
unbathed body, his filthy hands groping her dress, and of his hot breath on her neck.
"I know you will, and what's more, I'll make you myself!"
"Get off me!" she shrieked, while ramming her knee hard between his legs.
"You little bitch!" he sneered and slapped her hard across her face. She felt blood
dripping out of her nose, and saw it run onto her dress.
"I'll never be a prostitue, do you hear me? And you touch me again, I'll kill you!"
she suddered again, unable to forget the feeling of his groping fingers. Javert shook her
hard and laughed.
"You will. And you will learn to like it. They all do, in the end, you know." He
finished his laugh and shoved her aside. "You'll bring in lots, you little whore. You'll
make me a very rich man, you know that?"
He walked off, and returned later with a small piece of bread and water. Marie
lunged at him, trying to attack him. Javert just dodged her and chuckled.
"Fine, you won't have anything to eat at all."
Even in her weakened state and injured condition, she still had her temper.
"I'll not touch any of your food! I'd rather starve to death. And I'll not be a
whore! You hear me?"
Javert ignored her and continued.
"You'll need to clean up. I'm going to let you wash. Can't let the customers see a
dirty whore; they'll never come back for more!"
Her led her to a tent and shoved her inside.
"Wash," he commanded.
"Not in front of you, I won't! And I want these ropes untied! And a doctor to look
at my wrist! And I have no clean clothing!" Marie protested fiercely.
Javert looked unfazed.
"Anything else?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yes! Did I mention I'm not a whore and you can't make me!"
Javert sneered and replied, "And I said was going to make you one." He made a
grab at her, but Marie jumped back. He laughed.
"I'm just going to untie the ropes. I'm not going to touch you . . . yet."
Marie scowled, bit her lip until she tasted blood, and reluctantly held out her
wrists. Once they were free, she quickly untied her ankles. Now completely free, she felt
she had retained a bit of her dignity.
"Leave," she commanded coldly. "And get me some new clothes."
Javert looked suspicious, but finally consented. "You try to escape and I'll make
sure you'll never try it again," he threatened. He returned shortly with a bundle of fabric.
Marie closed the tent flap and screamed when she looked at the dress she was
supposed to wear. It was of the thinnest and cheapest material she had ever seen, with the
lowest, most vulgar neckline possible. Not to mention it was just plain ugly. A whore's
dress. Knowing Javert was outside, Marie ripped the fabric of the dress to shreds and
stomped to the tent flap. She threw the shreds at him and screeched, "I'll not wear that!
I'd rather wear this dirty dress of mine than that rag!"
Javert fumed. "Fine. Have it your way! All the better so the costumers will know
they're really getting a piece of the upper class. But I'll make sure it hurts on your part.
I'll enjoy this," he gloated to himself.
Marie made a grab for his neck, but he pulled his knife on her in a second.
"Get back in there. And do it fast."
Marie quickly stepped back in the dark tent. She realised with horror that it was
probably hers. A bed, or rather a cot of some sort with a mattress was the only thing in the
tent, save for a bucket full of water, a dirty bit of soap, and a rag that served as a foul
excuse for a towel. She dipped her finger into icy water, and told herself she wouldn't
wash with that, but she couldn't wait to wash her skin free of Javert's touch. She decided
she might as well wash her dress, or attempt to. She'd never had to wash a thing in her
life! Thankfully, it dried quickly and she slipped it back on.
It was refreshing to be clean again, even if it was cold water. She couldn't do a
thing about her hair, but let it cascade down her shoulders, nearly touching the ground.
She'd never be able to use her ivory combs to fix it by herself, and hid them in her pocket.
It was unbrushed, and far from lavish. Anything to make her unbeautiful now.
Marie began crying again, as she caught sight of the bed. She tried in vain to wipe
her tears and peeked out of the tent. Javert was nowhere to be seen, but the scraps of
fabric were. She picked up a strip and tightly wrapped her wrist. Then she snuck out of
the tent.
Finding a large rock, she sat down, not far from the tent, but still surrounded by
foliage. Marie played her lyre, soothing herself. She could almost forget she was a
prisoner in a gypsy camp and that she was just enjoying the scenery of the woods. The
trees seemed to whisper all the while around her. She soon felt a presence, and thinking it
to be Javert, she hid herself behind the rock and waited. But nothing happened. Relieved,
she stood up, and found, to her horror it was Javert.
"I won't be a whore!" Marie insisted furiously. "Never!"
Javert didn't move but grinned his awful sly grin.
"No, I've decided you'd bring in more money if you play that harp of yours.
Dressed like that, you can be the angel, and be shown with the demon. Yes, that will do.
An angel from heaven and a demon from hell."
Marie stepped back, relieved somewhat of her fate. "It's a lyre, and what do you
mean, demon?"
"Corpse boy. He'll play his violin, and be the demon from hell. You'll play your
lyre and be the angel from heaven. And afterwards, paying customers can have a look at
you," he continued, sneering.
"No, they won't," replied Marie crossly. "I'll agree to play my lyre with this
corpse boy of yours, but I'll not prostitute myself for slobbering pigs like yourself."
Javert turned to leave.
"Very well. But you're still mine."
Marie woke to a rough jar and pain in her wrist. She moaned, remembering where
she was: in a gypsy camp. She sat up, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes when a voice
spoke.
"Hey! She's up! Look at her!" jeered a sniggering voice. Marie was grateful she
had hidden her lyre in her bodice, as best as she could.
She felt something poke her in her side and another voice cried, "Let's see what
she looks like under the dress!"
Marie started to scream when she heard Javert's voice. "She's not for you! Only
for the paying customers!"
She cringed and started to cry. Was this the way she was going to live her life? As
a trashy whore? I wish Mother and Father could see me now, she thought bitterly. Javert
yanked her to her feet.
"Stop blubbering! I want you cleaned and ready by tonight."
Marie protested. "Please my wrist, it's broken! Isn't there a doctor around?"
Javert didn't even look at her wrist.
"It's not broken. Besides, I don't know if you'll bring in enough money for me to
get you a doctor."
"Well you won't because I'm not, and won't be a prostitute!" Marie spat
contemptuously.
Javert grabbed her and held her close. Marie shuddered at the stench of his
unbathed body, his filthy hands groping her dress, and of his hot breath on her neck.
"I know you will, and what's more, I'll make you myself!"
"Get off me!" she shrieked, while ramming her knee hard between his legs.
"You little bitch!" he sneered and slapped her hard across her face. She felt blood
dripping out of her nose, and saw it run onto her dress.
"I'll never be a prostitue, do you hear me? And you touch me again, I'll kill you!"
she suddered again, unable to forget the feeling of his groping fingers. Javert shook her
hard and laughed.
"You will. And you will learn to like it. They all do, in the end, you know." He
finished his laugh and shoved her aside. "You'll bring in lots, you little whore. You'll
make me a very rich man, you know that?"
He walked off, and returned later with a small piece of bread and water. Marie
lunged at him, trying to attack him. Javert just dodged her and chuckled.
"Fine, you won't have anything to eat at all."
Even in her weakened state and injured condition, she still had her temper.
"I'll not touch any of your food! I'd rather starve to death. And I'll not be a
whore! You hear me?"
Javert ignored her and continued.
"You'll need to clean up. I'm going to let you wash. Can't let the customers see a
dirty whore; they'll never come back for more!"
Her led her to a tent and shoved her inside.
"Wash," he commanded.
"Not in front of you, I won't! And I want these ropes untied! And a doctor to look
at my wrist! And I have no clean clothing!" Marie protested fiercely.
Javert looked unfazed.
"Anything else?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yes! Did I mention I'm not a whore and you can't make me!"
Javert sneered and replied, "And I said was going to make you one." He made a
grab at her, but Marie jumped back. He laughed.
"I'm just going to untie the ropes. I'm not going to touch you . . . yet."
Marie scowled, bit her lip until she tasted blood, and reluctantly held out her
wrists. Once they were free, she quickly untied her ankles. Now completely free, she felt
she had retained a bit of her dignity.
"Leave," she commanded coldly. "And get me some new clothes."
Javert looked suspicious, but finally consented. "You try to escape and I'll make
sure you'll never try it again," he threatened. He returned shortly with a bundle of fabric.
Marie closed the tent flap and screamed when she looked at the dress she was
supposed to wear. It was of the thinnest and cheapest material she had ever seen, with the
lowest, most vulgar neckline possible. Not to mention it was just plain ugly. A whore's
dress. Knowing Javert was outside, Marie ripped the fabric of the dress to shreds and
stomped to the tent flap. She threw the shreds at him and screeched, "I'll not wear that!
I'd rather wear this dirty dress of mine than that rag!"
Javert fumed. "Fine. Have it your way! All the better so the costumers will know
they're really getting a piece of the upper class. But I'll make sure it hurts on your part.
I'll enjoy this," he gloated to himself.
Marie made a grab for his neck, but he pulled his knife on her in a second.
"Get back in there. And do it fast."
Marie quickly stepped back in the dark tent. She realised with horror that it was
probably hers. A bed, or rather a cot of some sort with a mattress was the only thing in the
tent, save for a bucket full of water, a dirty bit of soap, and a rag that served as a foul
excuse for a towel. She dipped her finger into icy water, and told herself she wouldn't
wash with that, but she couldn't wait to wash her skin free of Javert's touch. She decided
she might as well wash her dress, or attempt to. She'd never had to wash a thing in her
life! Thankfully, it dried quickly and she slipped it back on.
It was refreshing to be clean again, even if it was cold water. She couldn't do a
thing about her hair, but let it cascade down her shoulders, nearly touching the ground.
She'd never be able to use her ivory combs to fix it by herself, and hid them in her pocket.
It was unbrushed, and far from lavish. Anything to make her unbeautiful now.
Marie began crying again, as she caught sight of the bed. She tried in vain to wipe
her tears and peeked out of the tent. Javert was nowhere to be seen, but the scraps of
fabric were. She picked up a strip and tightly wrapped her wrist. Then she snuck out of
the tent.
Finding a large rock, she sat down, not far from the tent, but still surrounded by
foliage. Marie played her lyre, soothing herself. She could almost forget she was a
prisoner in a gypsy camp and that she was just enjoying the scenery of the woods. The
trees seemed to whisper all the while around her. She soon felt a presence, and thinking it
to be Javert, she hid herself behind the rock and waited. But nothing happened. Relieved,
she stood up, and found, to her horror it was Javert.
"I won't be a whore!" Marie insisted furiously. "Never!"
Javert didn't move but grinned his awful sly grin.
"No, I've decided you'd bring in more money if you play that harp of yours.
Dressed like that, you can be the angel, and be shown with the demon. Yes, that will do.
An angel from heaven and a demon from hell."
Marie stepped back, relieved somewhat of her fate. "It's a lyre, and what do you
mean, demon?"
"Corpse boy. He'll play his violin, and be the demon from hell. You'll play your
lyre and be the angel from heaven. And afterwards, paying customers can have a look at
you," he continued, sneering.
"No, they won't," replied Marie crossly. "I'll agree to play my lyre with this
corpse boy of yours, but I'll not prostitute myself for slobbering pigs like yourself."
Javert turned to leave.
"Very well. But you're still mine."