Later, most everyone agreed that the main of it had been Pontmercy's fault, although perhaps they all ought to take some responsibility. Marius, on the other hand, maintained that none of this would have happened if not for Courfeyrac.
"Enjolras never would have noticed her," He snapped staunchly, "If you hadn't insisted that I go with you that morning to fetch him. I was perfectly happy where I was."
"Mooning like a calf! And if you'd been able to give it up for even a simple stroll over to Enjolras's flat..."
"Now now," Interjected Prouvaire with a sigh, "Lovers are not hardly nor wholly responsible for their actions. An' they were, would we be here, now, upon these sweaty stones?"
At which a fine discourse erupted in the still and fog, over love and the self-control of lovers, and the lengths to which one will go for love, after about ten minutes of which Cosette shushed them all sternly.
"Listen." She ordered. Around forty-two pairs of ears pivoted on craned necks to obey, and frove in the silence. Niether the long roll nor the toscin of st. Mery could be heard through the thicket of fog.
Enjolras, meditating nearby, his rifle leaning against his leg, clutched it hard, looking up sharply at Cosette. She met his ice blue gaze with cool-blue steadfastness, and nodded.
"We wait." Said Enjolras, and lay the rifle across his knees. Cosette sat at his feet, leaning wearily against her own rifle, and his knee. He patted her hair chastely, and she smiled at him in tired, fraternal gratitude.
Some feet away, Marius agonised, trying to supress a broiling jealousy that he knew to be-- at least mostly-- misplaced. Yet he couldn't supress wistful, heartbreaking rememberances of a day, not so long ago, when no thing had been more dear to Cosette than himself, and no ideal more far-reaching and glorious than that of their eventual marriage.
But that had been before she'd met Enjolras, and, through him, the Republic.
"Enjolras never would have noticed her," He snapped staunchly, "If you hadn't insisted that I go with you that morning to fetch him. I was perfectly happy where I was."
"Mooning like a calf! And if you'd been able to give it up for even a simple stroll over to Enjolras's flat..."
"Now now," Interjected Prouvaire with a sigh, "Lovers are not hardly nor wholly responsible for their actions. An' they were, would we be here, now, upon these sweaty stones?"
At which a fine discourse erupted in the still and fog, over love and the self-control of lovers, and the lengths to which one will go for love, after about ten minutes of which Cosette shushed them all sternly.
"Listen." She ordered. Around forty-two pairs of ears pivoted on craned necks to obey, and frove in the silence. Niether the long roll nor the toscin of st. Mery could be heard through the thicket of fog.
Enjolras, meditating nearby, his rifle leaning against his leg, clutched it hard, looking up sharply at Cosette. She met his ice blue gaze with cool-blue steadfastness, and nodded.
"We wait." Said Enjolras, and lay the rifle across his knees. Cosette sat at his feet, leaning wearily against her own rifle, and his knee. He patted her hair chastely, and she smiled at him in tired, fraternal gratitude.
Some feet away, Marius agonised, trying to supress a broiling jealousy that he knew to be-- at least mostly-- misplaced. Yet he couldn't supress wistful, heartbreaking rememberances of a day, not so long ago, when no thing had been more dear to Cosette than himself, and no ideal more far-reaching and glorious than that of their eventual marriage.
But that had been before she'd met Enjolras, and, through him, the Republic.