Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own Eponine or Marius, but Monsieur le Comte Arnauld Nicolas Gerard Erik Lazarus de Riqueville (whew!) is a character of my invention.
Eponine awoke to a light jostling and the pungent scent of cigar smoke. It was dark in the spacious carriage she was riding in. The horses ran fast through the uneven cobbled streets of Paris, but the thick cushion of her seat protected her. She looked out the window to see the street light pass rapidly from her vision. Suddenly, there was a deep cough from the opposite side of the carriage. A man sat there in shadow. The only thing Eponine could make out of him was the lit end of his thick cigar.
"Rest now, my dear. Do not waste your energy right now when you barely have a string of it left in your tiny little underfed body," said the man in a slight condescending tone.
Eponine was inclined to mouth off to him about what she will or will not do, but she realized the man with the cigar was right. She was very tired and she sorely needed rest. She could deal with him later, after a bit of sleep. She lay her head back and let the rocking of the carriage lull her to sleep.
* * * * *
Eponine blinked her tired eyes several times. She could hardly believe what she saw before her. She lay in a magnificent mahogany bed with four intricately carved posters and lovely dark blue satin sheets. A fire blazed in the grand fireplace across the room from her bed. On the left side of the room, he windows stood half-hidden behind dark blue drapes that hung all the way down to a blue marble floor. On her right, a beautiful mahogany set of a table and two chairs stood between her and the door. The stale stench of cigar smoke hung in the air, reminding Eponine of the mysterious man in the carriage.
Eponine looked down at her shoulder to see a white bandage with small spots of dried blood stained into the cloth. She untied the bandage and saw her misshapen wound sewed up. Her shoulder around the wound was brown and yellow, with dried blood caked around the stitches. She looked under the covers to see the same tattered rags she was wearing when she collapsed inside the doors of Notre Dame. She scrambled out of the massive bed and tiptoed over to door, the cold marble stinging her dirty bare feet. She opened the door softly and the soft heavenly sound the violin poured into her room. The music drew Eponine out of her room and as she further opened her heavy door, it groaned in protest. The music of the violin stopped. Eponine threw the door closed and leaned against it, her eyes darting left and right.
"Where to hide!" she whispered aloud. "They will find me in this beautiful room! They have cured my injury and hand me over to Javert, or worse, send me back out to the street! Everyone I know is gone, I'm sure. And my Marius...Lord, I do not know where he may be!" Tears once again welled up in her eyes and as a shiver coursed through her body.
Eponine gathered her wits and ran to the opposite side of the bed and crouched down to hide. She tried to steady her breathing when she heard that tattling door groan again. She crouched even lower and saw black shiny men's shoes. They walked over to the table and chairs and the creak of the chair signified that the man had sat down. Beads of sweat formed on Eponine's forehead as she panicked.
Eponine slowly lifted her head and looked at the man. He was very grand, and very old. His grey hair was thick and meticulously styled. He had a small grey moustache and thin lips. His eyes held an inner light and intelligence, while his posture gave him a natural air of dignity. He took a long drag of his cigar and put it out in the tray on the table. He looked rather agitated.
"Will you get up!" bellowed the man.
Will I WHAT? Eponine's thoughts screamed. She did get up, and then she stomped over to the old man and stuck a finger in his face.
"Don't you yell at me, old man!" cried Eponine. "I'm ready for all yer high- handed tricks! You've the mind to toss me into the jug or back onto the street, but theren't be no shoutin' at me! Nobody speaks that way to Ponine, old sir!" She crossed her skinny arms indignantly.
The man looked a slightly stunned and then he smiled. "Yes, my dear," the man replied. "I am quite sorry for yelling at you. I should not have done that. What a horrible way to start off...the wrong foot, I believe they call it. Forgive me."
Eponine kept her arms crossed. "Yer forgiven."
"Then please have a seat, my dear."
Eponine sauntered over to the opposite chair and plopped down.
"What is your name, young one?" asked the man.
"Eponine Thénardier. What's it to you? Who are you?"
The old man stood. He was very tall. "I am Monsieur le Comte Arnauld Nicolas Gerard Erik Lazarus de Riqueville." He bowed.
Eponine raised her eyebrow. "And how am I supposed to remember all of that? That name's longer than my arm!"
The old man chuckled. "Just call me Uncle Erik, my dear. My given names all come from this or that ancestor from my family's past. I prefer to have those I know in an informal nature call me Erik."
Eponine started at the words "informal nature". "Informal nature! Is that why you brought me here! So I could be your little at-home tart! You've got another thing comin', Monsieur, if you thing I'll stoop that far below my feet to make my livin'!" She made her way to the door.
The Comte became enraged. "How dare you throw such a cruel accusation in my face! I didn't bring you here so I could have my way with you whenever I want! As if an underfed creature such as yourself could ever stir the embers of a man such as myself into a blaze!" His voice softened. "No, my dear, I brought you here to help you. I found you nearly dead inside the sacred doors of Notre Dame and with the permission of Monseigneur Gaurette, I brought you here to take care of your wound and give you food. And, my dear Ponine, it seems that you'll be here for quite a while from the looks of your condition."
When the Comte addressed her as "Ponine", her heart ached. Marius always called her Ponine. Tears built up in her eyes, but she tried with all her might to hold them in.
The Comte walked over to her and looked into her eyes. "I'm sure Marius is fine."
The genuine sympathy in the Comte's voice, and the fact that he spoke Marius' name, let loose the dam that held her tears. She covered her face and bawled. Her thin body racked with every cry. She was such a pitiful sight, the Comte felt he had to put his arms around her and let her cry into his thick robe to console his heart as much as hers.
When she was finished crying, the Comte pulled her away and held her face up to him. "Now, enough of that. I'll have my physician come and take a look at your wound. I'm sure you are very hungry. I'll have my housekeeper, Madame Devereaux, bring you some soup and a bit bread. Then, Madame will help you wash and find something other than rags to wear. We shall talk later about you and your situation, but now is not the time. Madame Devereaux will be here shortly." The Comte let go of her arms and turned to leave the room.
"Um--?" said Eponine reluctantly before stopping herself.
The Comte turned around with his eyebrows raised. "Yes?"
"Who told you about my Marius?" she queried.
"Why, you did my dear. Just before you collapsed right in front of me at the cathedral."
"Oh."
The Comte started to turn to leave again.
"Uncle Erik?" started Eponine.
"Yes, Eponine?" The Comte looked back at her with a pleased expression on his face.
Eponine fidgeted a moment, seeming to find the right words to say to him. "I want to tell you I'm much grateful for takin' me in an' all."
"You're welcome, Eponine. You are very welcome."
Eponine awoke to a light jostling and the pungent scent of cigar smoke. It was dark in the spacious carriage she was riding in. The horses ran fast through the uneven cobbled streets of Paris, but the thick cushion of her seat protected her. She looked out the window to see the street light pass rapidly from her vision. Suddenly, there was a deep cough from the opposite side of the carriage. A man sat there in shadow. The only thing Eponine could make out of him was the lit end of his thick cigar.
"Rest now, my dear. Do not waste your energy right now when you barely have a string of it left in your tiny little underfed body," said the man in a slight condescending tone.
Eponine was inclined to mouth off to him about what she will or will not do, but she realized the man with the cigar was right. She was very tired and she sorely needed rest. She could deal with him later, after a bit of sleep. She lay her head back and let the rocking of the carriage lull her to sleep.
* * * * *
Eponine blinked her tired eyes several times. She could hardly believe what she saw before her. She lay in a magnificent mahogany bed with four intricately carved posters and lovely dark blue satin sheets. A fire blazed in the grand fireplace across the room from her bed. On the left side of the room, he windows stood half-hidden behind dark blue drapes that hung all the way down to a blue marble floor. On her right, a beautiful mahogany set of a table and two chairs stood between her and the door. The stale stench of cigar smoke hung in the air, reminding Eponine of the mysterious man in the carriage.
Eponine looked down at her shoulder to see a white bandage with small spots of dried blood stained into the cloth. She untied the bandage and saw her misshapen wound sewed up. Her shoulder around the wound was brown and yellow, with dried blood caked around the stitches. She looked under the covers to see the same tattered rags she was wearing when she collapsed inside the doors of Notre Dame. She scrambled out of the massive bed and tiptoed over to door, the cold marble stinging her dirty bare feet. She opened the door softly and the soft heavenly sound the violin poured into her room. The music drew Eponine out of her room and as she further opened her heavy door, it groaned in protest. The music of the violin stopped. Eponine threw the door closed and leaned against it, her eyes darting left and right.
"Where to hide!" she whispered aloud. "They will find me in this beautiful room! They have cured my injury and hand me over to Javert, or worse, send me back out to the street! Everyone I know is gone, I'm sure. And my Marius...Lord, I do not know where he may be!" Tears once again welled up in her eyes and as a shiver coursed through her body.
Eponine gathered her wits and ran to the opposite side of the bed and crouched down to hide. She tried to steady her breathing when she heard that tattling door groan again. She crouched even lower and saw black shiny men's shoes. They walked over to the table and chairs and the creak of the chair signified that the man had sat down. Beads of sweat formed on Eponine's forehead as she panicked.
Eponine slowly lifted her head and looked at the man. He was very grand, and very old. His grey hair was thick and meticulously styled. He had a small grey moustache and thin lips. His eyes held an inner light and intelligence, while his posture gave him a natural air of dignity. He took a long drag of his cigar and put it out in the tray on the table. He looked rather agitated.
"Will you get up!" bellowed the man.
Will I WHAT? Eponine's thoughts screamed. She did get up, and then she stomped over to the old man and stuck a finger in his face.
"Don't you yell at me, old man!" cried Eponine. "I'm ready for all yer high- handed tricks! You've the mind to toss me into the jug or back onto the street, but theren't be no shoutin' at me! Nobody speaks that way to Ponine, old sir!" She crossed her skinny arms indignantly.
The man looked a slightly stunned and then he smiled. "Yes, my dear," the man replied. "I am quite sorry for yelling at you. I should not have done that. What a horrible way to start off...the wrong foot, I believe they call it. Forgive me."
Eponine kept her arms crossed. "Yer forgiven."
"Then please have a seat, my dear."
Eponine sauntered over to the opposite chair and plopped down.
"What is your name, young one?" asked the man.
"Eponine Thénardier. What's it to you? Who are you?"
The old man stood. He was very tall. "I am Monsieur le Comte Arnauld Nicolas Gerard Erik Lazarus de Riqueville." He bowed.
Eponine raised her eyebrow. "And how am I supposed to remember all of that? That name's longer than my arm!"
The old man chuckled. "Just call me Uncle Erik, my dear. My given names all come from this or that ancestor from my family's past. I prefer to have those I know in an informal nature call me Erik."
Eponine started at the words "informal nature". "Informal nature! Is that why you brought me here! So I could be your little at-home tart! You've got another thing comin', Monsieur, if you thing I'll stoop that far below my feet to make my livin'!" She made her way to the door.
The Comte became enraged. "How dare you throw such a cruel accusation in my face! I didn't bring you here so I could have my way with you whenever I want! As if an underfed creature such as yourself could ever stir the embers of a man such as myself into a blaze!" His voice softened. "No, my dear, I brought you here to help you. I found you nearly dead inside the sacred doors of Notre Dame and with the permission of Monseigneur Gaurette, I brought you here to take care of your wound and give you food. And, my dear Ponine, it seems that you'll be here for quite a while from the looks of your condition."
When the Comte addressed her as "Ponine", her heart ached. Marius always called her Ponine. Tears built up in her eyes, but she tried with all her might to hold them in.
The Comte walked over to her and looked into her eyes. "I'm sure Marius is fine."
The genuine sympathy in the Comte's voice, and the fact that he spoke Marius' name, let loose the dam that held her tears. She covered her face and bawled. Her thin body racked with every cry. She was such a pitiful sight, the Comte felt he had to put his arms around her and let her cry into his thick robe to console his heart as much as hers.
When she was finished crying, the Comte pulled her away and held her face up to him. "Now, enough of that. I'll have my physician come and take a look at your wound. I'm sure you are very hungry. I'll have my housekeeper, Madame Devereaux, bring you some soup and a bit bread. Then, Madame will help you wash and find something other than rags to wear. We shall talk later about you and your situation, but now is not the time. Madame Devereaux will be here shortly." The Comte let go of her arms and turned to leave the room.
"Um--?" said Eponine reluctantly before stopping herself.
The Comte turned around with his eyebrows raised. "Yes?"
"Who told you about my Marius?" she queried.
"Why, you did my dear. Just before you collapsed right in front of me at the cathedral."
"Oh."
The Comte started to turn to leave again.
"Uncle Erik?" started Eponine.
"Yes, Eponine?" The Comte looked back at her with a pleased expression on his face.
Eponine fidgeted a moment, seeming to find the right words to say to him. "I want to tell you I'm much grateful for takin' me in an' all."
"You're welcome, Eponine. You are very welcome."