The Pimpernel of the Revolution
Chapter Two – Believe
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Like stepping on the air so blindly
I trust you will be there to find me
Like reaching through the blue
I place my faith in you
I do believe
These tender hearts of ours
May be endlessly naive
But we grow strong if we believe
This fragile world of ours
Spins us off into the storm
Hold on to me and I'll be warm
As roses bend through breeze, unbend me
As the rose bends to the sun
And in the darkness, please defend me
Two in love become as one
As waves lean on the sea, my love come lean on me
I do believe in you
~~~~~~~~~~~
Cosette stood restlessly in the foyer of the church, plucking at the fabric of her skirt and then smoothing it back down carefully. Plucking, smoothing. Plucking, smoothing.
M. Gillenormand, who was waiting with her, felt his own agitation increase with every movement of her slender hands. He was not normally one to be discomfited by such things, but there was something in the melancholy action which made him shiver.
"He'll be here," he assured finally, more to break the silence than from any desire to placate the girl. She was such a waif, this bride of Marius'! Charming, yes, and undeniably pretty, but far too delicate for his liking. She had an air of birdlike fragility about her, as if she were not a girl, but a lark. He'd always preferred his girls with a little more body and spirit. Let Marius keep this one. Luckily, he was not largely built himself, or else he'd likely snap the girl in two with their first embrace.
"Papa has always been like this." Her tone was pensive, as if she was musing to herself rather than addressing him. Indeed, he wondered whether she even remembered his presence. "He makes a promise, and fills my head with tales of the wonders which will come to pass, then turns and drags me away, without so much as a clue about where we are headed. Why should I be surprised that he abandons me on this, my wedding day?"
"It is early yet. There is still time."
"You do not know him as I do. You have not been forced to live with his moods and changes. But no more. Today I shall be free of him." She turned to the altar boy who was waiting on them. "Go inside and inform Monseigneur that all is ready."
As the boy scampered through the ornate double doors of the church, Cosette's hand jerked forward slightly, as if she longed to call him back, and her eyes turned towards the street. Feeling M. Gillenormand's eyes on her, she drew her head up high and blinked the half-formed tears from her eyes.
"Then you shall not wait for Monsieur Fouchien as you had intended?" he inquired gently.
"Fauchelevant," Cosette corrected absently, a smile coming to her lips despite her distress. There was something strangely comforting in the consistency of this old man's mispronunciation the name. She extended her hand to the old man. "Shall we go, then? It would not do to keep my husband waiting."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Marius stood at the window of his grandfather's house, staring at the spreading sunlight flooding across the city. Behind him, Salangue flitted around, trying to ensure that Marius would be presentable by the time the wedding carriages arrived.
Of all the young men whose company had been pressed upon Marius since his return from the barricades, Salangue was one of the few who he could call a friend. Most of the others deified him, hovering around him incessantly like small children, each with a multitude of questions to be asked. He had been something of a novelty to these sheltered young men, and they had all wanted to speak to and befriend this baron who had fought for and lived amongst the common people. Salangue, however, had been different. He had shown initial curiosity in this oddity, but them had begun to discover Marius as a person. There was something about this man which reminded Marius of Courfeyrac, who had always been so open and generous towards him.
"Salangue, my friend, I had the most wonderful…most terrible dream last night. I dreamt that God mocked me by sending me one of his angels to stand by my side, and that she pledged her hand to me, yet how could such a thing be true? Who am I to be wed to an angel?"
Salangue paused in brushing Marius' coat. "But Marius, that was no dream. This is your wedding day, and the name of your angel is Madamoiselle Euphrasie Pontmercy, soon to be Madame Euphrasie Pontmercy."
Marius sighed happily. "Euphrasie, yes. Would you believe, Salangue, that when I first learnt that name, she told me that 'Cosette' is an ugly name, yet for me it was a whisper from above. And when I told her that, she smiled and told me that it is indeed a fair name. To think!" he exclaimed happily, then repeated in a more subdued, more pensive tone. "To think…"
"Come, Marius. Let us leave this Cosette of dreams alone for a short time, that the Cosette of flesh may be yours for eternity. Here, I've readied your coat for you."