/This takes so long to write. It's nuts. The Sound of Miserables will also be updated tonight, and I'm thinking about adding another chapter to Ballerinas and Barricades, so look out for that. Thank you all so much for being patient. Uhm, if you have the time to, I've made a YouTube channel. My first video will be up on Monday (or this Wednesday, depeneding on what i decide to do) but if you could give that subscribe button a little click that would be lovely. Thank you much! Also, visit this amazing ask blog! It's all the Les Miserables characters! .
Plutarch entered once more, heaving a mighty sigh before speaking, "Madame Valjean and Mademoiselle Fauchelevent."
Combeferre smiled devilishly, then went forward to greet them. Marius trailed behind like a lovesick puppy, fixing his hair and straightening his necktie.
Madame Valjean was a tall woman with noble features and white hair. She did not stand or sit erect, because she found it absolutely pointless after all her years of discovering. The woman cared for her daughter immensely, and wished nothing but the best for the girl. The two of them hardly clashed. Cosette obeyed her mother without the fear that thrills respect in other daughters, but with love. With a love so grand that Cosette listened to her mother's every order with a smile on her face and a swelled heart.
It was obvious as to why Valjean protected Cosette to such an extreme as she did. Cosette was a gorgeous young woman with clear blue eyes and a pair of thin, pink lips. Her hair fell down her pack in a loose, yet elegant, braid. Her dresses were of the finest designs and complimented her figure in the greatest way possible. Though it was not just her looks that possessed a man. No, it was her gratefulness, her intelligence, her loving heart, and her strength. Cosette had big dreams and an even bigger sense of right. Cosette gave all and took little, despite her mother giving her anything she may want even though Cosette hardly asked. She was very smart. She was an independent young woman, and that is more attractive than anything.
"Good afternoon, dear Combeferre," said Valjean. "I hope you are behaving very well."
"I'm feeling very well, Aunt Jeanne," he answered.
"That's not quite the same thing," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "In fact the two things rarely go together." She noticed Marius and bowed with coldness. Cosette followed behind her.
"Dear me, you are smart!" said Combeferre, looking his cousin over with amused eyes.
"I am always smart!" Cosette giggled, smiling brightly and revealing a set of pearly white teeth. "Am I not, Monsieur Pontmercy?"
Marius, who looked somewhat like a freckled tomato, felt his breath leave him. "Oh!" he exclaimed with perhaps far too much enthusiasm. "You're quite perfect, Mademoiselle Fauchelevent."
"Oh! I hope I am not that. It would leave no room for developments," said she, a coy smile placing itself upon her lips. "And I intend to develop in many directions…" At this last statement, Cosette gave Marius a look that, to the naked eye, seems just as normal as any other look. However, to the one with their soul lost and wandering in the abyss we call love, it speaks a million words of delightful affection. This look had Marius practically glowing red.
Cosette and Marius sat beside one another on the sofa but with more than enough space left between them. Aunt Jeanne took her seat beside Combeferre in one of the arm chairs, and immediately began speaking, "I'm sorry if we are a little late, Combeferre, but I was obliged to call on dear Lady Hucheloup. I hadn't been there since her poor husband's death. I never saw a woman so altered; she looks quite twenty years younger. And now I'll have a cup of tea, and one of those nice cucumber sandwiches you promised me."
Combeferre grinned cheekily and pressed a kiss to his aunt's cheek. "Certainly, Aunt Jeanne."
While Combeferre busied himself with crossing to the tea-table, Valjean looked at her daughter in confusion. "Won't you come and sit here, Cosette?" she asked.
"Thanks, mamma," Cosette replied, giving Marius a dreamy look. "I'm quite comfortable where I am."
Back to Combeferre, who had just picked up an empty plate in pure horror. "Good heavens!" he crowed. "Plutarch! Why are there no cucumber sandwiches? I ordered them specially!"
"There were no cucumbers in the market this morning, sir," said Plutarch gravely. "I went down twice."
"No cucumbers!" Combeferre gasped. He slapped a hand to his heart, making the overall blow seem horridly more severe than it was.
"No sir. Not even for ready money," declared Plutarch, letting a small grin spread over his lips.
"That will do Plutarch!" blurted Combeferre, whose ears had turned a shade of red more violent and romantic than the highlights of Marius's hair. "Thank you…"
"I am greatly distressed, Aunt Jeanne," hummed Combeferre, "about there being no cucumbers, not even… for ready money."
With a slight grin, Valjean waved it off. "It really makes no matter, Combeferre. I had some crumpets with Lady Hucheloup, who seems to me to be living entirely for pleasure now."
"I hear her hair has turned gold from grief," he replied.
"It certainly has changed its colour," she told him. "From what cause I, of course, cannot say."
Combeferre handed her a cup of tea, and the Lady took it with eagerness.
"Thank you. I've quite a treat for you to-night, Combeferre. I am going to send you down with Emilee Farquhar. She is such a nice woman, and so attentive to her husband. It's delightful to watch them."
"I am afraid, Aunt Jeanne, I shall have to give up the pleasure of dining with you to-night after all."
"I hope not, Combeferre," Valjean said with a frown. "It would put my table completely out. Your uncle would have to dine upstairs. Fortunately he is accustomed to that."
"It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible disappointment to me, but the fact is I have just had a telegram to say that my poor friend Joly is very ill again," said Combeferre, lying through his teeth and glancing at Marius. "They seem to think I should be with him."
"It is very strange," Aunt Jeanne sighed. "This Monsieur Joly seems to suffer from curiously bad health."
Combeferre chuckled and patted his aunt's hand. "Yes; poor Joly is a dreadful invalid."
"Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Monsieur Joly made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This shilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life. I am always telling that to your poor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice… as far as any improvement in his ailment goes. I should be much obliged if you would ask Monsieur Joly, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse on Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me. It is my last reception, and one wants something that will encourage conversation, particularly at the end of the season when everyone has practically said whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably not much."
"I'll speak to Joly, Aunt Jeanne, if he is still conscious, and I think I can promise you he'll be all right by Saturday," Combeferre told her. "Of course the music is a great difficulty. You see, if one plays good music, people don't listen, and if one plays bad music people don't talk. But I'll run over the programme I've drawn out, if you will kindly come into the next room for a moment."
"Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful of you," she said, rising and following Combeferre. "I'm sure the programme will be delightful, after a few expurgations. French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so. Cosette, you will accompany me."
Cosette looked up at her mother and nodded slowly. "Certainly, mamma," she said softly.
However, when Aunt Jeanne left with Combeferre to the other room, Cosette stayed behind. Marius looked at her with shyness in his eyes. His lips parted but no words came out despite the alphabet soup that was his brain at the moment.
"Charming day it is, Mademoiselle Fauchelevent," he forced out.
"Pray don't talk to me about the weather, Monsieur Pontmercy," whined Cosette in the most dignified of ways. "Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so nervous."
"I do mean something else," Marius sputtered.
"I thought so," replied Cosette, the grin on her face spoken more than seen. "In fact, I am never wrong."
"And I would like to be allowed to take advantage of Madame Valjean's temporary absence…"
"I would certainly advise you to do so," said Cosette. "Mamma has a way of coming back into a room that I have often had to speak to her about."
His voice an octave higher than normal, he spoke nervously, "Mademoiselle Fauchelevent, ever since I met you I have admired you more than any girl… I have ever met since… I met you…"
"Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact," Cosette replied happily. "And I often wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative. For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even before I met you I was far from indifferent to you. We live, as I hope you know, Monsieur Pontmercy, in an age of ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly magazines, and has reached the provincial pulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always been to love some one of the name of Marius. There is something in that name that inspires absolute confidence. The moment Combeferre first mentioned to me that he had a friend called Marius, I knew I was destined to love you."
"You really love me, Cosette?" Marius gasped in amazement.
Cosette through herself into her arms and blinked at the man with innocent affection. "Passionately!" she exclaimed.
Breath barely passing his lips, Marius said, "Amour! You don't know how happy you've made me."
"My own Marius!"
Cosette openly allowed Marius to kiss her, and the man was about to take full advantage of his privilege when a single thought occurred to him. "But you don't really mean to say that you couldn't love me if my name wasn't Marius?"
She shook her head, face parroting that of Combeferre's earlier. "But your name is Marius."
"Yes, I know it is," said Marius. "But supposing it was something else? Do you mean to say you couldn't love me then?"
"Ah! That is clearly a metaphysical speculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has very little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we know them," giggled Cosette glibly.
"Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly," said Marius, growing nervous for a completely different reason, "I don't much care about the name of Marius… I don't think the name suits me at all."
"It suits you perfectly!" Cosette insisted. "It is a divine name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations."
"Well, really, Cosette, I must say that I think there are lots of other much nicer names," persisted Marius. "I think Jehan, for instance, a charming name."
"Jehan?" parroted Cosette, smacking her lips as if she were tasting the name. "No, there is very little music in the name Jehan, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It produces absolutely no vibrations… I have known several Jehans, and they all, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides, Jehan is a notorious domesticity for Jean! And I pity any woman who is married to a man called Jean. She would probably never be allowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment's solitude. The only really safe name is Marius."
Marius's eyes widened as he became aware of how grim his situation was. "Cosette, I must be christened at once!" he blurted. "I mean we must get married at once. There is no time to be lost."
"Married, Monsieur Pontmercy?"
"Well… surely!" said Marius. "You know that I love you, and you led me to believe, Mademoiselle Fauchelevent, that you were not absolutely indifferent to me."
"I adore you," Cosette said, touching his shoulder. "But you haven't proposed to me yet. Nothing has been said at all about marriage. The subject has not even been touched on."
"Well… may I propose to you now?" asked Marius, who was becoming emotionally exhausted from all this.
"I think it would be an admirable opportunity," she answered. "And to spare you any possible disappointment, Monsieur Pontmercy, I think it only fair to tell you quite frankly before-hand that I am fully determined to accept you."
"Cosette!" he hiccupped in pure joy.
"Yes, Monsieur Pontmercy," replied Cosette, "what have you got to say to me?"
"You know what I have to say to you…" Marius said.
"Yes, but you don't say it," scolded Cosette, looking very fed up with her lover's antics.
Nodding his head slowly, Marius lowered himself to his knee before Cosette and took her hands in his. "Cosette, will you marry me?"
"Of course I will, darling!" she gasped, exploding with excitement and adoration. "How long you have been about it! I am afraid you have had very little experience in how to propose."