**Disclaimer: Les Miserable and Phantom of the Opera characters are not
mine. Of course, the Comte de Chagny in this chapter is supposed to be (in
this fanfic) the grandfather of the Philippe and Raoul de Chagny in
question, but since he shares the name of the two Phantom characters…let's
just say I'm trying to save my butt from any hoity-toity lawyers. Once
again, Erik the Comte de Riqueville is mine, as is the infamous Antoine.
The next day, Eponine woke very late. As quickly as she could, she washed, dressed, and brushed her hair before looking for her Uncle Erik. The afternoon was warm and she found him in a chipper mood sitting on a bench inside the garden. She ran up to him and gave him a great hug. "I had such a wonderful time last night, Uncle Erik!" she cried as she sat down next to him. "What about you? Did you have a good time, also?"
"It was a beautiful June masquerade, my dear. They are meant for young people, although I must say that I had a splendid time watching you dazzle everyone in the room," he said happily.
"Well, it was a wonderful evening! The champagne was delightful! I danced so many dances…" she trailed off, not sure whether or not to tell him about the man named Antoine and the man in the hawk-mask. "I had a fabulous time," she finished.
"Good, because it just so happens that we are invited to many dances, but I have accepted the invitations of a masquerade at the end of October and a ball in December, just before Christmas, and they're both in Paris. I think many witnessed you arriving and leaving with me and suddenly my name is on everyone's guest list. What do you say? You think you can stand spending a couple of months in Paris?" he asked.
Eponine thought about when she was last in Paris. The Barricade in the rue de Villette, Enjolras and his fellow students, her poor Marius. Marius. It all seemed so long ago. The pain in her heart was still there, but rather than a sharp pang, it was a dull ache. Is it possible? she thought. Is it possible that I am getting over him? Marius, you were the only one who loved me. Do not hate me for hurting less.
After a moment of silence, Eponine replied, "Yes, I'll go.
* * * * *
At the beginning of October, Eponine's thoughts about the oncoming travel consumed her thoughts. Paris was a city of dark memories…but perhaps she wouldn't even have the chance to see the sections of Paris where she had experienced such misery. She tried to put the memory from her mind. The dull ache threatened to become worse with every recollection. To distract her, she wrote into her journal about the previous and oncoming masquerades:
I wonder if this masquerade shall be the same as the last. I wonder if that angry young man named Antoine will be there. I hope not. He is not the kind I would like to associate with, ever. He seemed like he was so full of hate and rage and it was all directed at me. And the man with the hawk's mask—I wish I'd asked his name! Will he be there, too? I often wondered about him. He seemed so happy and jolly…and unlike anyone that would want to be friends with that detestable Antoine. I wonder what they look like without their masks. I'm sure Antoine is absolutely hideous. I'm sure he will resemble the mask he wore. Demon-like. Skeletal. As for the hawk, I'm sure he is good-looking and makes you want to smile. I'm sure his face will light up any room and he has many, many friends. Unlike me. I hope I shall make friends in the future. I hope I shall make friends with him. I guess I shall have to ask him for his name, first. Most likely, I will not see either of them at the upcoming masquerade. I will probably run into a whole new crowd of masqueraders.
My mask and my dress were finished today! My mask is black velvet with peacock feathers that splay out from the top as if a little peacock is sitting behind the mask rather than my face. Little diamonds dot the outside of my eyes as a glamorous addition. And my dress! It is pitch black with streaks of turquoise, blue, violet, bronze, and silver strategically laid into it to match the peacock mask. The neck is cut low with the bodice fitting tightly down to my hips where it smoothly flares out in a simple dress with a very short train made of peacock feathers. It is so becoming. In fact, too becoming. I'm almost sure people will think that I am like the whores that occupied the streets along the harbors at night. I addressed my concern to Uncle Erik and all he said was that it complements my black hair and black eyes. I guess the Paris masquerade is a more important occasion than the Rouen ball, for I am to have a specialist put my hair up and decorate it with diamonds and glitter.
As for the unmasked ball in December, I will have a dress made for me in Paris. I asked Uncle Erik if I could have a blue dress and he told me that I shall have the loveliest blue dress, that would make the wide ocean turn green with jealously. Uncle Erik is too kind to me.
* * * * *
In mid-October, they rode to Paris where they lodged in the spacious home of the Uncle Erik's cousin, the Comte Philippe Raoul de Chagny. He was a kind old fellow with few cares. He had known of his good cousin's situation with Eponine for quite a while, and although he didn't give his opinion of whether or not he approved, he accepted it all the same as the wish of his generous cousin Erik. The Comte de Chagny had told his family of the situation, and they were to accept their new relative as Uncle Erik's daughter and as if she were blood. If Erik wanted this to be so, then so it shall be, for it was also somewhat advantageous for them. Where Eponine lacked the bloodlines, she made up for in beauty and talent and eventually, the count-ship. She would be a perfect match for their son, and the two count-ships could be united…especially since the Chagny's had been experiencing some financial problems. Although never vocalized, these observations were on the Comte de Chagny's mind and he began to wonder if Eponine was heaven sent.
Eponine was greeted very warmly by the Comte and Comtesse. She had a beautiful blue room to lodge in and was told to make herself at home; that everything in the Chagny estate was at her disposal. She was not aware of the inner workings of the Comte de Chagny's brain, so she just thought that he was just a normally jolly man, showing nothing but kindness and generosity toward her.
It was the morning after Eponine and Uncle Erik's arrival at the Chagny household when Eponine sat on the bench of the Chagny's piano in the entertaining room. It was October 27, 1833. Marius would have been twenty- two today, she thought. A tear streaked down her cheek. She decided to play a sad song. Low and soft. Just for Marius. She laid her fingers on the keys and escaped into the music. Tears continued to stream down her face, but she did not stop nor cry out. It was a song to remember by to sooth the pain, rather than reopen the wound. When she finished the song she sat there for a moment, unable to move. Suddenly, behind her, there was a slow clapping. She quickly turned around. A young man stood there, his hands still held together from his last clap.
He was very good looking. Tall and sleek with blonde hair and dangerous grey eyes that pierced. He wore rich, sophisticated clothes that magnified his physical charm. She felt at such a disadvantage. Her face was most assuredly splotched from her tears, and he looked like a Roman god. She felt her confidence draining quickly with every passing second. His thin lips were curved into a smirk as he sauntered over to her and—to her surprise—sat right down next to her on the piano bench…a little too close for comfort.
"Lovely playing. I assume cousin Erik taught you that piece," he said knowingly.
Eponine couldn't put her finger on it…but there was something about this young man that seemed familiar. She'd never seen his face before, but something told her that she knew him from somewhere…and also to tread carefully when he was around. He had a cruelty that emanated from him, a coldness in his eyes, a chill about his soul. He was staring directly into her eyes and his haughty attitude was making her uncomfortable. Despite his undeniably good looks, she felt repelled by him. She tried not to recoil, but she couldn't help it.
"Yes, he did," she said. She was getting very upset the way he kept looking her over and seemingly assessing her. "How long had you been standing there?" she demanded.
"For a while," he said, still taking her in with his cold, dead eyes. His attitude told Eponine that he was someone important in the house. Then, she remembered that the Chagny's had a son.
"You must be the Comte de Chagny's son," Eponine guessed.
"My name is Antoine de Chagny, the future Comte de Chagny," he replied in a rather snobbish tone. "Yes, I am my father's son."
Eponine's mind went wild. Antoine. Antoine! The unkind young man at the masquerade! "I know you!" Eponine exclaimed as she shot up from her seat and backed away. "You were at the masquerade in Rouen in June!" Her thoughts distracted her concentration as she went over what she had written in her journal. He is not hideous. He is handsome…but all the more deadly.
"And YOU still act as if all pianos are Eponine's pianos." He spat her name like an insect that flown on his tongue.
"I have permission!" protested Eponine. "Besides, I wasn't hurting a soul by my playing. Except yours, perhaps. I don't know if you reserved this malicious attitude exclusively for me, but you act like a little stubborn boy who refuses to share his toys with his playmates."
Antoine stood up and walked quickly over to Eponine. Her body went tense as ran his hand through her dark lock. His face wore a dangerous smile. "You want to be my playmate?" His voice tinkled like ice. He brought his other hand to her neck and caressed it. For the moment, she couldn't move. She was afraid of what he'd do if he were further incensed. "That can be arranged." He stopped fondling her hair and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "But not tonight. I have plans."
He kept looking into her eyes for such a painfully long time that she was afraid he was going to kiss her, or something more unpleasant. Finally, just when she was about to push him away and call him a few choice names, he cruelly shoved her chin away from him before he walked out of the room.
Her cheeks were burning from anger and rage. How dare that bastard treat me like trash! Eponine thought wildly. I am not the dirt beneath his shoe! She gathered her thoughts as she stormed out of the room to find him; she didn't want to leave it there. She reached the foyer when she heard Antoine's voice.
"Tell my father that I will be gone for a couple of days." He was talking to Jacques, the Chagny's butler who was helping Antoine put on his coat. "It's Pontcy's birthday today and I'm going up to Montreuil-sur-Mer. I should have gone last night, but I got caught up in other…activities." He gave a despicable chuckle. "Just as well, I shall still be in time for the festivities and I really do not enjoy staying at his home. It is so old and draughty. As a reminder, Jacques, Pontcy and his repulsively conservative wife are riding back with me and I will drop them off of at the Hotel Paris. I told Pontcy that he is completely welcome to stay in my home, but he said that he doesn't want to intrude and already booked a couple of nights at the hotel." Antoine checked himself in the mirror and sniffed as he said, "His wife hates me and I'm sure she refused to stay here."
Antoine took his hat from Jacques and set it on his head, tilting it to one side. "Until tomorrow, Jacques!"
Eponine returned to the piano room. "Pontcy," she said to herself. "What an unusual name! I wonder if he is the mysterious man behind the hawk. If he is, I hope he has a happy birthday celebration. Speaking of birthdays…" Eponine returned to the piano and began playing another song in memory of her lost love…
Marius.
The next day, Eponine woke very late. As quickly as she could, she washed, dressed, and brushed her hair before looking for her Uncle Erik. The afternoon was warm and she found him in a chipper mood sitting on a bench inside the garden. She ran up to him and gave him a great hug. "I had such a wonderful time last night, Uncle Erik!" she cried as she sat down next to him. "What about you? Did you have a good time, also?"
"It was a beautiful June masquerade, my dear. They are meant for young people, although I must say that I had a splendid time watching you dazzle everyone in the room," he said happily.
"Well, it was a wonderful evening! The champagne was delightful! I danced so many dances…" she trailed off, not sure whether or not to tell him about the man named Antoine and the man in the hawk-mask. "I had a fabulous time," she finished.
"Good, because it just so happens that we are invited to many dances, but I have accepted the invitations of a masquerade at the end of October and a ball in December, just before Christmas, and they're both in Paris. I think many witnessed you arriving and leaving with me and suddenly my name is on everyone's guest list. What do you say? You think you can stand spending a couple of months in Paris?" he asked.
Eponine thought about when she was last in Paris. The Barricade in the rue de Villette, Enjolras and his fellow students, her poor Marius. Marius. It all seemed so long ago. The pain in her heart was still there, but rather than a sharp pang, it was a dull ache. Is it possible? she thought. Is it possible that I am getting over him? Marius, you were the only one who loved me. Do not hate me for hurting less.
After a moment of silence, Eponine replied, "Yes, I'll go.
* * * * *
At the beginning of October, Eponine's thoughts about the oncoming travel consumed her thoughts. Paris was a city of dark memories…but perhaps she wouldn't even have the chance to see the sections of Paris where she had experienced such misery. She tried to put the memory from her mind. The dull ache threatened to become worse with every recollection. To distract her, she wrote into her journal about the previous and oncoming masquerades:
I wonder if this masquerade shall be the same as the last. I wonder if that angry young man named Antoine will be there. I hope not. He is not the kind I would like to associate with, ever. He seemed like he was so full of hate and rage and it was all directed at me. And the man with the hawk's mask—I wish I'd asked his name! Will he be there, too? I often wondered about him. He seemed so happy and jolly…and unlike anyone that would want to be friends with that detestable Antoine. I wonder what they look like without their masks. I'm sure Antoine is absolutely hideous. I'm sure he will resemble the mask he wore. Demon-like. Skeletal. As for the hawk, I'm sure he is good-looking and makes you want to smile. I'm sure his face will light up any room and he has many, many friends. Unlike me. I hope I shall make friends in the future. I hope I shall make friends with him. I guess I shall have to ask him for his name, first. Most likely, I will not see either of them at the upcoming masquerade. I will probably run into a whole new crowd of masqueraders.
My mask and my dress were finished today! My mask is black velvet with peacock feathers that splay out from the top as if a little peacock is sitting behind the mask rather than my face. Little diamonds dot the outside of my eyes as a glamorous addition. And my dress! It is pitch black with streaks of turquoise, blue, violet, bronze, and silver strategically laid into it to match the peacock mask. The neck is cut low with the bodice fitting tightly down to my hips where it smoothly flares out in a simple dress with a very short train made of peacock feathers. It is so becoming. In fact, too becoming. I'm almost sure people will think that I am like the whores that occupied the streets along the harbors at night. I addressed my concern to Uncle Erik and all he said was that it complements my black hair and black eyes. I guess the Paris masquerade is a more important occasion than the Rouen ball, for I am to have a specialist put my hair up and decorate it with diamonds and glitter.
As for the unmasked ball in December, I will have a dress made for me in Paris. I asked Uncle Erik if I could have a blue dress and he told me that I shall have the loveliest blue dress, that would make the wide ocean turn green with jealously. Uncle Erik is too kind to me.
* * * * *
In mid-October, they rode to Paris where they lodged in the spacious home of the Uncle Erik's cousin, the Comte Philippe Raoul de Chagny. He was a kind old fellow with few cares. He had known of his good cousin's situation with Eponine for quite a while, and although he didn't give his opinion of whether or not he approved, he accepted it all the same as the wish of his generous cousin Erik. The Comte de Chagny had told his family of the situation, and they were to accept their new relative as Uncle Erik's daughter and as if she were blood. If Erik wanted this to be so, then so it shall be, for it was also somewhat advantageous for them. Where Eponine lacked the bloodlines, she made up for in beauty and talent and eventually, the count-ship. She would be a perfect match for their son, and the two count-ships could be united…especially since the Chagny's had been experiencing some financial problems. Although never vocalized, these observations were on the Comte de Chagny's mind and he began to wonder if Eponine was heaven sent.
Eponine was greeted very warmly by the Comte and Comtesse. She had a beautiful blue room to lodge in and was told to make herself at home; that everything in the Chagny estate was at her disposal. She was not aware of the inner workings of the Comte de Chagny's brain, so she just thought that he was just a normally jolly man, showing nothing but kindness and generosity toward her.
It was the morning after Eponine and Uncle Erik's arrival at the Chagny household when Eponine sat on the bench of the Chagny's piano in the entertaining room. It was October 27, 1833. Marius would have been twenty- two today, she thought. A tear streaked down her cheek. She decided to play a sad song. Low and soft. Just for Marius. She laid her fingers on the keys and escaped into the music. Tears continued to stream down her face, but she did not stop nor cry out. It was a song to remember by to sooth the pain, rather than reopen the wound. When she finished the song she sat there for a moment, unable to move. Suddenly, behind her, there was a slow clapping. She quickly turned around. A young man stood there, his hands still held together from his last clap.
He was very good looking. Tall and sleek with blonde hair and dangerous grey eyes that pierced. He wore rich, sophisticated clothes that magnified his physical charm. She felt at such a disadvantage. Her face was most assuredly splotched from her tears, and he looked like a Roman god. She felt her confidence draining quickly with every passing second. His thin lips were curved into a smirk as he sauntered over to her and—to her surprise—sat right down next to her on the piano bench…a little too close for comfort.
"Lovely playing. I assume cousin Erik taught you that piece," he said knowingly.
Eponine couldn't put her finger on it…but there was something about this young man that seemed familiar. She'd never seen his face before, but something told her that she knew him from somewhere…and also to tread carefully when he was around. He had a cruelty that emanated from him, a coldness in his eyes, a chill about his soul. He was staring directly into her eyes and his haughty attitude was making her uncomfortable. Despite his undeniably good looks, she felt repelled by him. She tried not to recoil, but she couldn't help it.
"Yes, he did," she said. She was getting very upset the way he kept looking her over and seemingly assessing her. "How long had you been standing there?" she demanded.
"For a while," he said, still taking her in with his cold, dead eyes. His attitude told Eponine that he was someone important in the house. Then, she remembered that the Chagny's had a son.
"You must be the Comte de Chagny's son," Eponine guessed.
"My name is Antoine de Chagny, the future Comte de Chagny," he replied in a rather snobbish tone. "Yes, I am my father's son."
Eponine's mind went wild. Antoine. Antoine! The unkind young man at the masquerade! "I know you!" Eponine exclaimed as she shot up from her seat and backed away. "You were at the masquerade in Rouen in June!" Her thoughts distracted her concentration as she went over what she had written in her journal. He is not hideous. He is handsome…but all the more deadly.
"And YOU still act as if all pianos are Eponine's pianos." He spat her name like an insect that flown on his tongue.
"I have permission!" protested Eponine. "Besides, I wasn't hurting a soul by my playing. Except yours, perhaps. I don't know if you reserved this malicious attitude exclusively for me, but you act like a little stubborn boy who refuses to share his toys with his playmates."
Antoine stood up and walked quickly over to Eponine. Her body went tense as ran his hand through her dark lock. His face wore a dangerous smile. "You want to be my playmate?" His voice tinkled like ice. He brought his other hand to her neck and caressed it. For the moment, she couldn't move. She was afraid of what he'd do if he were further incensed. "That can be arranged." He stopped fondling her hair and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "But not tonight. I have plans."
He kept looking into her eyes for such a painfully long time that she was afraid he was going to kiss her, or something more unpleasant. Finally, just when she was about to push him away and call him a few choice names, he cruelly shoved her chin away from him before he walked out of the room.
Her cheeks were burning from anger and rage. How dare that bastard treat me like trash! Eponine thought wildly. I am not the dirt beneath his shoe! She gathered her thoughts as she stormed out of the room to find him; she didn't want to leave it there. She reached the foyer when she heard Antoine's voice.
"Tell my father that I will be gone for a couple of days." He was talking to Jacques, the Chagny's butler who was helping Antoine put on his coat. "It's Pontcy's birthday today and I'm going up to Montreuil-sur-Mer. I should have gone last night, but I got caught up in other…activities." He gave a despicable chuckle. "Just as well, I shall still be in time for the festivities and I really do not enjoy staying at his home. It is so old and draughty. As a reminder, Jacques, Pontcy and his repulsively conservative wife are riding back with me and I will drop them off of at the Hotel Paris. I told Pontcy that he is completely welcome to stay in my home, but he said that he doesn't want to intrude and already booked a couple of nights at the hotel." Antoine checked himself in the mirror and sniffed as he said, "His wife hates me and I'm sure she refused to stay here."
Antoine took his hat from Jacques and set it on his head, tilting it to one side. "Until tomorrow, Jacques!"
Eponine returned to the piano room. "Pontcy," she said to herself. "What an unusual name! I wonder if he is the mysterious man behind the hawk. If he is, I hope he has a happy birthday celebration. Speaking of birthdays…" Eponine returned to the piano and began playing another song in memory of her lost love…
Marius.