Eponine was not on speaking terms with winter. When she was a little girl, she always waited impatiently for the first snowfall to transform her parents' rundown inn and its shabby courtyard into a sparkling fairyland. She could spend hours traipsing through the snowy woods and skating on the frozen pond in her little brown cloak, as long as there was a warm supper and a cozy corner by the fire waiting for her at the end of the day. But in Paris, the snow piled up in grimy heaps on the street corners. It filled the streets with frozen slush that seeped into her boots. Cold gusts of wind rushed through the cracked windowpanes to extinguish the coals in the fireplace, when there were any, so the indoors was little better than outdoors.
She walked along now with her head bent, to shield her face from the wind. She had almost reached the side door of the Gorbeau House, when she walked straight into someone who was just coming out of the building.
"Oh, pardon me, Mademoiselle."
Eponine looked up. "Monsieur Marius! Sorry, I didn't see ––"
"Quite all right," Marius assured her. "I'm sorry for bumping into you. I was a bit distracted. Been out enjoying the snow?"
"Hardly."
"You don't like winter, then?"
"What's to like about it?"
"Oh, I don't know. I've just always loved watching snow come down. Makes everything look different, even ordinary things, and––well, I think it's quite lovely."
"It's all right when you don't have to walk in it."
"True. But I'd rather walk in snow than in rain, wouldn't you?"
"Rain's not as cold. And it doesn't pile up so you have to tramp through it."
"True. But rain also can't do this."
A snowball glanced off of Eponine's elbow, exploding into a burst of white powder. "What was that for?" she cried.
"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" said Marius. In answer, he got a loose handful of snow thrown into his face. "That wasn't necessary," he said.
"Well, you started it."
"Come now, we've got to follow the rules––"
"Rules? What rules? You threw snow at me; I acted in self-defense."
"The least you can do is make a proper snowball.:
"Oh, like this?" Eponine, who had taken a few steps back, now launched a snowball that hit his shoulder.
"Was that a declaration of war?" said Marius, preparing another snowball. This one went over Eponine's head. As she ducked, she caught up a handful of snow that she pressed into a ball before hurling it at Marius. Soon they were chasing each other up and down the small courtyard, dodging snowballs and shouting with laughter.
"You––are such––a child!" yelled Eponine.
Marius grinned. "You started it!" He threw another snowball, which fell an arm's length to her left.
"Also, your aim is terrible!"
"Yours isn't much better!"
"Well, you keep moving!"
Marius laughed, jumping out of the way of a snowball that nearly missed his knee. He bent down to pick up more snow, when he saw Eponine was leaning against the side of the house, coughing. "Are you all right?" he asked.
Eponine nodded, pressing her hand to her chest. "It's nothing," she said. "Happens every winter. Same as snow."
"I'm sorry," said Marius.
"It's not your fault."
"I know, but–– You'd better get inside." He held the door open for her, even waiting till she had knocked her boots against the threshold to clear the snow off them. "Au revoir, Eponine," he said, tipping his hat to her. He started off down the street, when a snowball caught him between the shoulders. He turned around. The door was only open a crack, but he thought he heard a low giggle behind it. He shook his head, and launched a parting snowball at the door before he went on his way.
Eponine shook the snow off her coat before climbing the stairs to her family's apartment. She went in, kicked her boots off, and curled up in the corner by the fireplace to try and warm her stiff, white fingers.
"What are you smiling at?" her mother asked.
"Nothing," said Eponine. She blew on her hands and rubbed them together. They ached from being plunged into the snow again and again, but she found she did not mind.
When Marius walked into the back room of the café, a few heads that had been bent over tables turned toward the door. "Marius, you're late," a fair-haired young man chided.
"I'm sorry, Enjolras," said Marius. "I got caught up with––something."
"What's got your cheeks all rosy, eh?" said another of his companions.
"The cold, Courfeyrac."
"Only that?"
"Yes."
Enjolras cleared his throat. "If you'll take a seat, we can continue with our discussion. With your permission, of course," he added, sarcastically.
A few of the men scooted their chairs over, and Courfeyrac pulled up an empty chair from one of the unoccupied tables next to his own. "When this is over," he whispered, as Marius sat down, "you're going to tell me all about her."
