Who has a knife?
Eponine would need something quite sharp and of a medium size. She knew Montparnasse would have the knife, but this thought made her shudder for the only way to acquire or even steal this knife that she was certain he had, she would have to satisfy his lustful hunger.
She slowly picked herself up from the street and at a quickened pace walked to Montparnasse's room.
As she had thought he was in his room, for it was to late a minor thefts but to early for larger ones. He was sitting on his pallet sharpening his knife. Eponine's eyes widened for it was the very knife she wanted. This room was so familiar to her, but she did not want to know it.
He lifted his head and saw her but barely acknowledged her.
"What do you want?"
"I need that knife, 'Parnasse. Just give it to me and you can do what you like with me."
She had finally come to his attention.
"How about you give me what I want and I keep the knife?"
Eponine knew know she would have to steal the knife if she truly desired it. In her mind if would be wiser for her to sleep with him first and then in his slumber, take the knife and run away. That is precisely what she did.
She was contemplating and making sense of all her rapid thoughts. The barricade was not to far away but she walked as slowly as possible. She had feelings of regret from sleeping with Montparnasse, but that case seemed hopeless. She needed the money and she needed the knife. But still she could not help feeling like she should not have.
She heard gun shoots from the barricade and smiled. She stealthily made her way towards the rebel side of the barricade, and had not been shot.
She gathered any spare bullets she could find and laid on the ground next to her. Next she drew the knife out slowly, so maybe she could talk her self out of this, but her efforts were useless.
With as much strength as her feeble arms could take, she rammed the blade into her stomach. Blood quickly came out, though she did not feel any pain. He had numbed her. Eponine stabbed herself twice more then fell to the ground. She groped the ground for the bullets besides her and put them in her wounds.
For Eponine, though love was a new and amazing feeling, it had numbed her. Her endless love for Marius had pushed aside everything else, so she couldn't see, feel, or touch anything but him.
Just as in her mothers novel, Eponine wanted to die in the one she loved arms. Marius could not ignore her now she was dying, like had ignored her before. She called his name, as she would until he came. Eponine knew that no pain could be greater than the happiness she would feel in his arms.