A/N: A quick update before I run to work...

Thanks again to all who read, reviewed, favved, followed and discussed. You make this all the more worth it.

Leave me a comment?

On another note, I'm again gone over the weekend, so probably expect no update until some time next week...

Chapter 34: Of favors

"Because while I do not know who the enemy is any longer, I do know who my friends are, and that I have not done as well by them as I should. I hope to change that. I hope to do better."

When Éponine arrived at last at the entrance to the sewers that would bring her towards the Silver Hall, the first greenish stripes of daylight had just become visible on the eastern horizon and she realized she would be late for Rue Pascal, but it was not to be helped.

Her father, unsurprisingly, was already there, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets and looking for all intents and purposes as if he was thoroughly bored.

But then again, probably he was.

"There you are", he remarked as Éponine entered the abandoned part of the sewer, and a broad smile that was almost sincere found its way onto his features. "I was wondering what had kept you."

"Police", Éponine retorted. "Seems by chance half of them chose to go down the passage I was taking."

"Right", Thénardier grinned. "I saw it from the cellar I was hiding in. Gave them a good run for their money, you did."

Éponine found his nonchalance grating. It had been a close call, and she had needed to draw on all her knowledge of passages and secret alleyways to finally lose them. But it was no use explaining this to her father. He thrived in results, and any concern she might have been able to scrape from him had been spoiled the moment she arrived more or less unscathed.

"What about the others?"

Thénardier spat onto the floor and shrugged.

"Your sister arrived before you did. Sent her to get your mother. I don't think it would be wise to go back to the flat now. We need to lie low for a while. There's no news of the rest yet, although I don't think that brat of a brother of yours would even care to show up."

"Neither would you for him, right?" Éponine gave back. She was relieved that her sister was safe, but it had been a while since the manner of her father had started to anger her. Today, for some reason, she felt, she had less patience for him than before.

"Now, now, 'Ponine, don't be cross. The little man is all grown, no worries there. Speaking of grown men…", his grin grew broader, almost teasing as he turned to face his daughter in full, "what's it with you and that bourgeois boy? First you telling me he's clean, and then he shows up visiting us all by himself? Fancy one that is, I'd say. Where'd you find him?"

"He's a friend of the baron", Éponine answered and felt no inclination whatsoever to explain herself to her father at all. Unfortunately, Thénardier would not so easily let go.

"What's he to you then?"

Éponine had to consider only for a split second.

"Someone", she responded coolly, "who has access to la Force. Came in handy today."

It was true, and yet it felt like a lie coming over her lips. For of course, this was only a minor part of the truth. And when it came to the prison break, his help had been offered. Not demanded by her. But where Éponine already had trouble grasping that concept, she was certain that it was completely alien to her father. In addition what had passed between Enjolras and her was hers alone. And the decision to join the revolutionaries in their deeds was certainly nothing that she felt inclined to tell her father.

Thénardier eyed his daughter thoughtfully and hesitated for a moment. His gaze was unreadable, but Éponine knew him well enough to be sure that he had not dropped the issue at all, quite to the contrary. Her father was a master of schemes, a master of finding those secret nooks and passages that were the underbelly of Paris. To have someone like Enjolras within his grasp was too tempting not to exploit it.

Now that Enjolras had his attention, he would probably try to ensnare him as he had tried – and succeeded - with Marius. It was in his nature.

But Éponine was certain that the rebel leader was nothing like the young, dear, naïve baron's son. And while she would try and keep him out of the plans of her father, she was certain he could fend for himself better than Marius, and that was at least something.

None the less, she did not want to continue the conversation in that manner.

"You owe me, you know?"

She said it casually, almost in an off-handed manner, but the words alone made him look up, a frown on his face as he watched his daughter.

"What?"

Éponine shrugged. She knew the value of favors and debts. None of them that were the creatures of the gutters of Paris had much to bargain for, and none of them owned much of value, so promises and favors had become everyone's favorite currency in this place. Like a spider's web, their invisible threads linked them all together, and Éponine knew all about it, about the evaluation of small favors, of favors and grand favors, of the invisible, unwritten rules of thieves' honor. She was not born into it but had learned about it quickly enough, thanks both to Montparnasse and her father, and why should she not use it on him as well? He had certainly often enough called her out on debts obscure or clear. Her errands as a price for being raised by him, fed and cared for – as much as she was. Her lies for the fact that it stayed that way.

It was only rarely that she found herself on the other side of the invisible puppet strings, but she knew enough to savior and use these moments.

"You owe me", she repeated therefore, despite the slightly exasperated face of her father. "Us, in fact. All three of us. You'd better not forget it."

Thénardier seemed to be still searching for words, when Éponine heard laughter from behind her that told them of the arrival of Babet.

The tall, slender man stepped up to them, carefully avoiding the smellier puddles on the floor, as if soiling his shoes would matter on a night such as this.

"Fully grown, that girl, eh innkeeper?" he joked and seemed to find some amusement in the scene. "I assume you would call me out on the same lines, would you not?"

Éponine leaned back against the wall of the sewers casually and crossed her arms, checking her stance to appear as undefeated and unfazed as she could. Of all the Patron-Minette, Babet was probably the craftiest one, a man that knew a lot and applied it all to his advances, a dangerous one that, like a snake, knew all about waiting and watching and striking.

The gaze with which he measured Éponine now was one of challenge, and both of them were only all too aware of the fact, that this was probably the first time that they were seeing each other eye to eye. In a night's deed and time, Éponine realized, she had moved from the innkeeper's kid to someone who was worthy of regard and wariness in her own right.

She smiled. Her voice was steady and strong.

"Sure."

Babet held her gaze for a moment, narrowing his eyes, measuring her, size and shape and form, and then, with a shrug, turned away.

"Sounds fair", he admitted, and Éponine knew these words for what they were. A favor did not make you a friend. It was a relentless bond that made the strangest of bedfellows. And that was all that needed to be said between them.

Babet, having settled this issue, focused his gaze in Thénardier, who, leaning against the sewer wall like his daughter, burying his hands in the pockets of his trousers, seemed slightly dissatisfied with the situation on the whole.

"Gueulemer is still with Toureille", he explained and Thénardier nodded. Toureille was as much a man of the streets as they were, but he seemed to have at least a faint idea of medicine – actually similar to Babet who posed as a doctor from time to time as well but seemed less inclined to practice that particular art. Toureille's prices were lower than that of a real studied man, but he did manage to do a good turn from time to time, and he could be paid in favors, not money, like all of them amongst themselves. He was one of the better ones, for his favors could be paid after health was being restored. There were others in the same trade, who were not that merciful.

This made him remarkably supreme to all other forms of medical aid, and they all went to him, now and then, when the need arose and they were willing or desperate enough to risk stealing a more diffuse object from an apothecary or play out his vengeance on those that had not paid the favor quickly enough. These were the favors he usually demanded, and they were dangerous, but rarely unfulfillable.

"What did Toureille say?" Thénardier asked, only mildly interested, and Babet shrugged.

"Amidst all the cursing and swearing, you mean? That he'll live, I guess, unless he catches infection. He's taken a shot to the side, but Toureille says it's nothing vital. He doesn't know if there's permanent damage, that remains to be seen, and then there's the fever. But Gueulemer is as strong as an ox, so chances are probably good."

Éponine, without knowing where the thought had come from, wondered if Babet worried about his comrade. And tried to imagine, what would have happened, had one of the Friends of the ABC been in Gueulemer's situation, and one of the others in the place of Babet. They would probably take shifts in watching, worry coloring eyes and faces, affection clear in every gesture.

How different to this. It was a strange thing to think of, here in the sewers of Paris.

"We decided we'd go undercover for a bit", Thénardier explained to his associate. "I guess you'd better do the same. Azelma's home getting Madame, and we'll find some place to curl up for a few nights before we move back again."

Babet smiled.

"Sounds reasonable, innkeeper", he said. "I have indeed decided to do the same thing. With all that is going on in the city, our meager souls will soon again be forgotten, but we should wait until they have forgotten how much your children have insulted their pride. We can regroup later on."

This reminded Éponine of something.

"By the way", she asked, "whatever happened to Claquesous?"

Thénardier snorted, and Babet had a delicate smile on his face.

"That is the question, is it not?" he answered. "Seems as if this prison is on the whole much less secure than one might think, given the fact that the five of us escaped on three different paths?" He shrugged. "Claquesous didn't return from an interrogation. Which may mean anything from him being free again to him having been thrown into the deepest of cellars to rot until all eternity."

"Somehow I doubt that", murmured Thénardier, and Babet responded.

"So do I", he said and Éponine felt himself inclined to concur. Claquesous had all the characteristics of a cat. He fell on his feet, wherever he dropped off. How he did that was anyone's guess. "I guess we will see him in no time."

"Time will tell", Thénardier concurred, already distracted by another set of sounds that was coming from the entrance to the sewers not far away. A whistle told them that it was Azelma who had arrived from her errands, and the heavy shuffling made it clear that her mother was with them.

Éponine tensed subtly.

"So, where will you go?"

"I'm calling in a few favors", Thénardier said, thoughtfully. "Such as to Brujon. He owes me given the fact that he hid at our place for a week straight after that coup of his in the Vierrard residence. He might find us a place to stay, don't you worry."

"I don't", Éponine replied. "I won't join, though."

Thénardier raised a brow.

"What? Deserting your family?"

Azelma and her mother had appeared at the abandoned part of the sewer, and while Madame Thénardier continued towards them, Azelma remained for a moment after having heard Éponine's last words. That in itself would have almost have her retreat from this. But she had given other promises as well. Yet, that was nothing she could tell her father.

"Course not", she answered in exasperation. "That's not the point. But honestly. You and mother, and us two girls, hiding out somewhere – how much more obvious can you be? I'll be fine, don't you worry. I can find a place to stay. I know my way around."

Thénardier smirked.

"That's clear", he said, looking to his wife with a slight frown. Her hair was mussed from sleep and her clothing wrinkled. The eyes were slightly glazed from the influence of spirits, but she took her place at his side with duty and resignation. He shrugged, almost in neglect. "Well, sweet, do what you want. Let's meet back here at dusk tomorrow, what do you think?"

Éponine thought that tomorrow – or probably rather today – evening, there would be the new assembly meeting in the wine shop Corinthe. But then, she had not been called, and the assembly would mostly include those that took part in Enjolras' and Combeferre's council, although word had had it already that at least most of Les Amis would join the place as well. She had hoped to be able to gather additional information like this. But then, the meeting was sure to take some time, so she might be able to return there.

Hence she nodded.

"All right", she answered. "I will."

She turned to her sister, who was hovering at the entrance, trying to look as unremarkable as possible. Éponine felt a swell of pity. Azelma had taken so many things that had happened so much worse.

"Will you go with them?" Éponine asked, almost carefully, and for a moment she could see the hesitancy in her eyes as she looked to her sister, then to her mother, and then back to the dirty, soiled floor. The nod was barely perceptible, and Éponine sensed that she was conflicted as well, but there was no possibility to argue or reason with her in front of her parents, however much she would have preferred to take her little sister with her.

"All right", she then said, taking one last look around at her comerades, assembled in the semi darkness of the abandoned sewer arm. "Then we meet again tomorrow."

She turned on her heel to hurry out – the deed was done, all words were said, there was no reason to linger. Except for the brief halt that she made at her sister's side, to brush her hand over her shoulder.

"Thanks, little one", Éponine whispered. "For today and all."

That made Azelma turn to her, a tiny frown between her thin brows as her gaze met that of her sister in slight confusion and worry. But she remained silent, and all that Éponine could add was: "Watch out for herself", and after a brief nod she was gone, up the stairs and out of the sewers and on her way to Rue Pascal.

When Éponine finally reached Rue Pascal, she almost feared that she would find it deserted. She was indeed pushing her luck in a way. There was no possibility how she could have arrived earlier, not without revealing her intention to her father, and yet…

Daybreak, Enjolras had said, and daybreak had happened some time ago, probably while she had still been in the silver hall, waiting for her mother to arrive. The sun was not yet fully in the sky, but by the red shower that was wandering over the sky in burning glory she could tell that somewhere behind the houses it was going up, lazily leaving the horizon to herald another, glorious summer day.

Despite the early hour, Rue Pascal was already populated. It was a quarter of factory accountants, of young bourgeois on the way to making their name and fortune, of rich students and those that had just quit university and followed their first steps into whatever was their chosen profession.

It was a surrounding befitting of Enjolras, and yet it was not, for upon stepping into the streets, Éponine could feel the sense of abandonment, of self-sufficiency, of people lost in their own cast and thoughts. And that was a notion that – for all his bourgeois heritage that he neither could nor cared to hide – was obviously utterly alien to Enjolras.

Éponine slipped into the building number 7 with all the confidence that she could muster. Luckily, there was no one to stop her, although the setup of the ground floor suggested, that the staircase was the usual haunt of a concierge; but luckily she was absent at this early hour.

She climbed the staircase up to the second floor, and as she reached the first landing, she could already hear agitated voices coming from the apartment, and it was not difficult to distinguish Enjolras' voice, vibrating with anger and exasperation.

Éponine slowed her step and approached the door, slightly torn whether she should just enter or first try and find out what was going on there before she decided to step into the scene.

Listening was a tempting idea, but she finally decided against it – not so much because it was the decent thing to do, but because she heard the closing of a door on one of the upper levels, followed by steps coming down and she did not feel inclined to explain her presence to strangers.

She knocked and the voices on the other side fell silent.

"Who's there?" she heard Enjolras' voice while someone's steps approached the door from the other side. She gave her name and this opened the door. She managed to slip in before whoever came from the upper stories could reach her, and as the door fell back behind her she felt an unexpected, sudden and very brief notion of relief.

The room was basically unchanged to its state two nights ago.

However, the dinner table was littered with books and notes in a neat, orderly handwriting that Éponine deemed to be either disquieting or admirable, and both the couch and the bed in the other room showed signs of having been used during the night.

They were three in the apartment – Bahorel, Enjolras and Combeferre. The former greeted her with a smile and a slightly mocking bow. He seemed to be already wide awake, eyes sparkling. "Mademoiselle", he said, "what unexpected pleasure."

Combeferre looked significantly less relaxed. The circles under his eyes were dark and deep, and his face exhibited an almost unhealthy pallor that was only enhanced by his slightly mussed hair. He blinked several times, and then managed a smile that showed the effort and barely reached his eyes.

"Mademoiselle", he said quietly. "Good morning to you."

Enjolras, leaning against the door he just closed, responded significantly more irritably.

"You have an interesting conception of the expression 'before daybreak'."

Éponine suppressed the notion of rolling her eyes – even though that certainly was the first reflex that came to her mind.

"It was as early as I could manage", she answered and collected her thoughts. The tension in the room was tangible, and if she had any doubts that she had just interrupted a quarrel, they were alleviated now. "Did something happen?"

Combeferre forced out another smile and shook his head, more in an automatic movement than with conviction and was backed up by Enjolras' tense response of "Nothing of substance", when she remembered that this was, in fact, not entirely true.

The sights of the night came back to her as she stood there, the events in la Force before they had even reached her father and his associates. The captivity of Hélène de Cambout was something that she should convey to Enjolras and his friends. It was clear that they knew her well, and from all that she had seen two nights ago, it was likewise clear that for all the friendship they seemed to harbor for her and her husband in general, there was more than just friendship that bound Combeferre to the young woman.

He did not exactly look as if he could take another piece of bad news, however, and on top of this, Éponine was not sure she wanted to convey to Combeferre and Bahorel where exactly she had been.

The hesitancy must have shown well in her face for Bahorel cocked his head and flashed her a questioning smile.

"So, Mademoiselle, what brings you here?" he asked curiously, and Éponine finally made a decision.

"I've come to tell you they captured Madame de Cambout."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Combeferre, and as she turned towards him she could see that his eyes were closed and his hands were clenched around the back rest of a chair. The posture made him seem even more haggard than before and Éponine wondered if he had gotten any sleep at all. Involuntarily, her gaze strayed to the notes and books on the table, and even though there was no time to read much, she realized what it was that was lying there in front of him.

Law texts. And notes. Lots of notes.

That, together with Enjolras' and Bahorel's lack of reaction made her realize what was going on.

"Oh", she said. "So you know already."

"Yes." The admittance from Combeferre was almost painful. "Pierre Berat told us yesterday evening." He opened his eyes again, and his look was carefully neutral, as much as he could manage it in his obvious worry. "How do you know?"

Éponine shrugged. There was no turning back now.

"I've seen her being brought to la Force", she answered, and Bahorel immediately stated the obvious.

"La Force? What would she be doing there? That's no women's prison after all." He gracefully spared her the question of what Éponine herself had been doing there.

"Good question", she gave back. "I've been asking myself the same thing."

"This sounds, as if someone wanted to explicitly keep her right under his nose", Enjolras prompted from the door and took a few steps to join the circle the other three formed. "Or as if someone had very explicit plans for her."

"How was she?" Combeferre's voice was quiet, but intense. "What have you seen?"

Éponine sighed. This was probably not going to make things better.

"She was bound", she recalled what she had seen. "Fully dressed so they probably didn't drag her out of bed or at least had the decency to give her the opportunity to dress before she was brought there."

"She was still at le Globe", Combeferre intercepted softly. "It was too early for her to retire. Just about the time they would start the printing."

Éponine shot him a quick glance. He really looked as if he had not gotten any sleep that night. Possibly, he had been brooding over the law texts that were littering the table. She would not fault him for that. If it had been Marius, she would have been quite as frantic. Possibly worse.

"Anyhow", Éponine continued. "There were quite a lot of people assembled. Police, National Guard… one would have thought they had caught someone of the kind of…", the search for an adequate comparison brought back images of the day before, of her captivity, and she pushed them aside with vehemence, "well… some kind of really dangerous person."

"Madame has certainly made some enemies", Enjolras remarked drily and Combeferre shot him a reprimanding gaze that made him turn to Éponine instead. "Anything else?"

"She was received and questioned by a fairly fat man wearing the uniform of the Guard. Mustache, quite a belly, brown hair", Éponine added finally, glad that still no one had asked her how and from where she had seen this.

"Must be the Commander of La Force", Bahorel growled. "Haven't seen the man but his reputation precedes him. Grew fat and comfortable in office, I would say. A politician rather than a soldier. Sneaky man."

From his tone she would have almost expected him to spit on the floor in contempt, but he was bourgeois; of course he would not do that.

Enjolras nodded slowly.

"I see", he said. "That's interesting, at the very least."

"Yes, of course", Combeferre answered tensely. "So she is in La Force?"

Éponine shrugged.

"She was there. What happened then, I don't know. I did not have time to linger, I'm afraid."

"That is understood", Enjolras answered. "I trust you are well otherwise?"

He watched her intently, and she had to admire the skill with which he was dancing around the subject. She decided to make things easier for him, if only to keep the others from asking.

"I'm fine", she replied. "All is fine so far."

He understood the message and nodded, holding her gaze for just a moment longer with his own before he let the subject drop.

"She was arrested for murder of her husband", he explained for her benefit, and Éponine stared at him incredulously.

"What?!" she exclaimed. "But that's ridiculous! It was that dwarf. I've seen it." She looked at Enjolras in exasperation and shook her head. "That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard." She did not try to keep the contempt out of her voice, but a small snort from Combeferre, that could almost have been a laugh if he had been less desperate, finally stopped her ranting.

"No need to convince us, Mademoiselle", he said, in the same quiet, composed tone he had applied since she arrived. "You may rest assured that we are Madame's most avid supporters. However, I do have a fear that the police will not listen to this alone."

Éponine shook her head.

"Yes, but…", and then she stopped. Of course she had not been the only one who had seen the dwarf. But who was there – apart from the police – that could confirm Madame de Cambout's words? There was just them – Éponine and her father, and Patron-Minette.

And the dwarf had vanished from the interrogation cell before the sun had risen on the death of Alexandre de Cambout. It was a well-set scheme, she had to admit. She pursed her lips, partly in appreciation, partly in disgust.

"Ouch", she said. "That's sordid."

"Yes it is", Enjolras answered, and again his gaze lay on her. "The situation is quite dire, in fact."

There was more to his gaze than just the words, a deeper meaning and a question. And she knew fairly well what he was asking.

He had not betrayed her secret, had not told his friends what had brought her to La Force. However, there was no second thought with respect to what he thought was the right thing to do. Éponine felt a slight surge of panic. This was not how she had expected things to be. Her decisions these days had been mostly driven by impulses. Now she was facing their consequences in the direst manner.

She hesitated for a moment. But there was the memory of the golden trust between them, the unquestioned companionship that was so deep and lovely – and obviously came at a price.

She plunged.

"All right", she began. "But I'm telling you all of this only if you promise you won't tell the others. Especially not Marius."

When she had ended, Combeferre looked at her, his chin placed on his fingers, his mouth hidden by his fists, trying to collect his racing thoughts. Enjolras, next to him, had listened to Éponine's tale with patience, even though he obviously knew most of it and guessed the rest, while Bahorel was with effort trying to hide a smirk.

"I see…", Combeferre said finally. "Although I fear this does not simplify things."

"It is obvious that testifying in this case would also mean exposing you to the wrath of the law", Enjolras added, "which is something that can only be a last resort and even then not without your consent."

"Of course", Combeferre agreed. While he did not know yet what to make of Éponine's tale – he had already thought that there was had been more to the tale of her rescuing of Hélène two nights ago than she had conveyed, but he had not quite guessed the scope of the story. Yet, he felt grateful for her trust at least and told her so.

She snorted and shrugged.

"Figured you should know at least", she answered gruffly. "Although I fear none of the others would be very happy about me being here or me telling you."

"I thank you for it none the less." Combeferre ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to clear his thoughts. This was becoming increasingly difficult. The night had been a living hell, with the hours refusing to pass and daytime slipping away from him as if in empty mockery. He had sifted through Enjolras' law books in the search of defenses, trying to chase the image of Hélène, bound and chained, from his mind. Trying not to think of all those things that could happen to a woman in prison, of all the sordid stories they had heard. Looking desperately for a way out.

Minutes had turned to hours. Sleep had been a faraway prospect anyhow and so he had not woken one of the others but instead taken on the whole watch of the night himself – a fact that Enjolras had not been very amused about when he found out - but so at least he and Bahorel had had a decent night's sleep. They needed it as well

The situation, however, became no less tangled in daylight. Although technically there were witnesses that could testify that there had been other people in the de Cambout mansion that night, exposing this knowledge would also bring these people into the focus of the police themselves.

Unacceptable.

There had to be another way to bring her out.

"I guess then our plan still stands." Combeferre wondered, how Enjolras could sound so sober, so clear in times such as this, but then, for all the respect he had for Hélène, to him she was only Madame de Cambout, the editor of the Globe while to Combeferre…

He had no idea how to put in words what she was to him, because he did not know. She had been his friend, once and always, a confidante and a trusted companion.

Of course he was aware that there was something unspoken between them, ever since the horrifying realization he had had as she was walking down the aisle towards a beaming Alexandre. That day he had felt his breath stop for just a moment as the revelation hit.

He knew she was not unaffected by it.

But they had never spoken of it – it had never been necessary. She had been married to Alexandre – loved Alexandre – and everything else had been just a passing fancy. Everything else belonged to the realm of dreams and must never, never be acted upon.

But Alexandre was dead, and now she was alone, all alone in the darkness of the prison, and the thought was almost too much to bear.

But he was who he was, and they were who they were. With which right did he worry about another man's wife, even if that man had recently deceased? Of all the people who could lend her support and strength, he was the worst choice – the disastrous coach ride two days ago had made this clear. Little could he do to comfort her – all of this would violate all those unspoken agreements hanging between them – and he would feel like a hypocrite trying to comfort her after the death of Alexandre; with all that was standing between them. As much as he wanted it, but what he wanted had never factored into the equation when it came to Hélène.

There was such a thing as human decency, and Combeferre would not act against it.

So what could he do?

Preciously little…

He flinched as he heard his name being spoken and found himself under Enjolras' scrutiny. He was vaguely aware his friend had spoken, but of what he had no idea.

"I'm sorry", he responded, feeling off-kilter. Enjolras sighed.

"Like I said", he repeated obviously for the second time, "we should get to Marius and Courfeyrac. Joly and Bossuet promised to come there as well and then we can decide how we proceed with respect to Madame de Cambout."

Enjolras turned his regard to Éponine – who did not look as if she had not gotten a single hour of sleep that night as well. She seemed to bear it better, though. Combeferre wondered if she was more used to it than them.

"Éponine", Enjolras began, "I realize you must be tired but I would appreciate you joining us. I do not think that we will need your help right away, and maybe you can have a few hours' sleep at Courfeyracs' afterwards. I fear asking you the same thing is futile Combeferre?" Enjolras didn't even turn to him and there was a biting note to his voice, but Combeferre responded none the less.

"I have told you already", he replied. "The way things are I could not sleep if I wanted."

"I could offer a smack on the head", Bahorel recommended in a vain attempt at levity, but Combeferre did not dignify that with an answer. Now was not the time for jokes.

Éponine, meanwhile, shrugged at Enjolras' words.

"Why not?" she said. "I'm not that tired. Just remember your promise."

Combeferre watched the gamine, young, haggard, dark eyes intense and demanding, and overtaxed as he was, he would have almost laughed.

How different they were.

Caught in the same kind of web.

A splendid picture of equality.