Marquette and Grantaire were slightly abashed when Feuilly and Courfeyrac found them sharing a scone as they walked down the street.
Feuilly was spoke gently, yet firmly to the pair. "Jerome, Marquette, you had us all quite worried. There are a number of reasons that—"
"You two must have had the time of your lives!" Courfeyrac broke in excitedly, "Did you see us? Oh, I remember the days of my early youth…there was this girl, the cutest little upper-class Italian thing…Cora…Cara...or something along those lines…we ran all over this city before her brothers caught up with us and beat me senseless…" Courfeyrac smiled distantly at the memory. "Those were the days."
The three looked at him for a moment. "It explains so much, yet leaves so much unanswered." Feuilly remarked finally, shaking his head and looking away in an attempt to conceal his amusement. In doing this slight act he caught sight of a familiar figure. The fan-maker's eyes bulged. "Jehan?"
Jerome and Marquette sniggered slightly at the sight of Jean Prouvaire's outfit. Courfeyrac was speechless for the moment.
Jean Prouvaire was panting slightly. "I know…I know…no, I did not mug an aristo of '93…no I did not raid my grandmother's closet…and yes, I am aware of how ridiculous I look."
"Actually its an improvement." Courfeyrac finally quipped.
The poet looked at his friend for a moment and sighed, unable to think up of anything to jibe back.
Feuilly put his hand on Prouvaire's shoulder. "What brings you back to us?"
The young man brightened visibly. "Acquittal." He said enthusiastically. "Since I was not present when the offence took place, Madame Orka gave me my adulthood back. You would not believe how unusual of an experience it is, Feuilly! Seeing the world as a child sees it once more! I cannot find the words to aptly describe the ascent into a more pleasurable innocent time."
Feuilly smiled kindly.
Jehan started slightly. "Oh! I nearly forgot, forgive me. Enjolras wanted to see if I could find you and to see if you had found Grantaire and Marquette—which I see you have." He cocked his head to the side and regarded the sniggering adolescents for a moment. "I am glad I didn't end up as a teenager once again." He said finally.
"Why is that M. Prouvaire?" Marquette inquired, suddenly feeling slightly ashamed of her rudeness.
"It was a very awkward time for me. I wasn't very graceful." Prouvaire confided before nearly tripping over his own left foot and falling face down into the pavement. Courfeyrac caught him in time and Jehan threw him a grateful look.
Marquette managed not to smile, but Jerome guffawed.
Jean Prouvaire looked at the young Grantaire. "Your arms are different lengths." He said finally, before leading Feuilly and Courfeyrac.
Jerome snorted. "What sort of comment was that?" He chortled at the poet's back.
Courfeyrac whispered to Jehan, "Yes, what sort of comment was that, Prouvaire?"
"The sort that will eat at an adolescent for a good week."
Courfeyrac looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Jerome anxiously appraising the lengths of his arms. Marquette was eyeing them critically as well, trying to see if there was the slightest deviation in their comparative lengths.
"Well, I'll be." He remarked.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Musichetta was struggling not to cry. She did not want to frighten the boys any further than they already had been. Charles-Leon and René were clutching at folds of her skirt, and Michel and Lyle were holding on to her hands very tightly indeed.
"Is M. Enjolras a bad man, Musichetta?" René asked after a while.
Musichetta bit her tongue to fight back the 'yes' that so willingly came to her lips. "No." She replied softly. "He is not a bad man. He is a very foolish man who would throw his greatest treasures away…but he is not a bad man."
"Why don't you like him?" Charles-Leon asked.
Musichetta felt as if a knife had been plunged into her heart as she looked at the young face staring up so innocently at her. Hatred towards Enjolras began to burn once more in the pit of her stomach. "Because he not only throws his own treasures away, Charles-Leon, he would also throw the treasure of others away. He is very selfish."
Michel spoke up. "Why doesn't someone just beat him up then? "
Musichetta laughed suddenly despite herself. "Why would someone do that, Michel?"
"Well if he was throwing my treasure away, I'd show him!" Michel swung his fist at the air.
René blinked up at Musichetta from behind his glasses. "Maybe he doesn't like them? The treasures I mean."
Musichetta sighed and ruffled the boy's hair with deep affection. "If that is the case, he is even more foolish than I thought."
"Can we go back to your home, Musichetta?" Lyle pleaded. "I'm hungry."
"When do we eat?" Charles-Leon asked anxiously.
Musichetta bit her lip briefly. How can I feed this many children as well as Marquette and myself? Fear briefly clouded her thinking but she quelled it with the thought that the boys were safest this way. God would no doubt provide a way for her to provide for them all, one way or another.
Smiling weakly she told the boys, "We will go home now, but first I want to stop at the bakery and buy some bread for our supper. I'm afraid dinner will be very simple tonight."
The boys looked up at her with understanding and implicit trust. The innocence in their collective gaze made her anger towards Enjolras rise in its intensity and along with it her affection for the boys also rose.
"Don't worry boys, " She said quietly. "You are safe with me."