Hello, dear readers! Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I'm also sorry this chapter is rather short and inconclusive. I wanted to get something posted; hopefully the next one will be better. Special thanks to my cat, who kept me company while I was finishing this.
The opening of this chapter was inspired by a scene from A Little Princess by Frances Hodgeson Burnett. Just in case this isn't clear, the first paragraph, written in italics, is a dream––which accounts for the very OOC behavior of a certain person––it's taking place in Montfermeil, when Azelma and Eponine were children.
"Summer is here!" Mme. Thénardier threw open the windows, letting warm air and sunshine into the room. Azelma stood on tiptoe, breathing in the warm scent of clover and wildflowers. An orange butterfly flitted past the window. Mme. Thénardier hummed a tune while she wove the little girl's hair into two neat braids and tied ribbons on the ends. "Go out and play, sweetie," she said, playfully shooing Azelma toward the door. A soft summer breeze greeted Azelma as she stepped outside into a small garden full of flowers. Eponine, wearing a pastel-colored dress, her hair in braids with ribbons like Azelma's, was riding back and forth on a swing hanging from the branches of a big tree. "'Zelma, come swing with me!" she called, her white boots scraping against the ground to stop the swing. Azelma climbed onto the swing beside her sister. As they flew into the air, she tilted her head back toward the cloudless blue sky and laughed for pure joy…
Azelma buried her face in her pillow, squeezing her eyes closed. She didn't want the dream to end, but she knew it was no use; she was already half awake. She half-yawned and half-sighed, expecting to feel cold air on her nose.Instead, to her surprise, the comfortable warmth of her dream lingered in the room. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. A thick quilt lay across her lap, and she was surrounded by soft flannel sheets. She leaned back, and felt a couple of fluffy pillows behind her head. Flames crackled merrily in the fireplace. I must still be dreaming… she thought. Slowly, she pulled back the quilt and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She braced herself for the moment her bare feet would touch cold floorboards, but instead she felt a carpet tickle her toes. It all felt too real to be a dream.
A mirror hung on the opposite wall, above a small table. Azelma peered at her reflection. Her surroundings may have drastically improved, but her appearance had not. She straightened her ragged dress, and smoothed her tangled hair as best she could. The thin, dirty face staring back at her was all too real to be some figment of her imagination.
She tiptoed toward the window and pulled aside the curtain. Lacy frost patterns covered the panes of glass. She rubbed a clear spot on one of the panes and peeped through. She could see the snow-covered roofs of houses much nicer than the Gorbeau tenement. As she peered down at the street below, bits and pieces of the night before came back to her. Huddling under the bridge with Eponine, trying desperately to keep Gavroche warm…a man with a lantern coming toward them through the snow…a long ride in a carriage… Inspector Javert's face kept appearing in her mind's eye. Azelma had had fewer run-ins with Javert than Gavroche or Eponine had, but she knew well enough who he was. Now she remembered: he had wanted to arrest them, but brought them instead to his house. What had made him change his mind? Why would he, of all people, show them kindness?
She pulled on her threadbare stockings and shoes, warm and dry from sitting by the fire, and ventured out into the hallway. The door of the next room was halfway open; she peeked in. Eponine was slumped against the headboard of the bed, sound asleep, and Gavroche was curled up by her side, holding onto her hand. Azelma could not resist a slight smile; it would have been a sweet scene if Gavroche did not look so pale and sick, or Eponine so exhausted.
She did not have long to look before she heard footsteps on the stairs. Javert was coming upstairs, taking care not to drop the tray he was carrying. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn the night before, and looked as though he had not yet shaved. "Pardon me," he said to Azelma, who scurried out of his way as he entered the room. As a sort of afterthought, he turned to her and said, "Young lady, er, go down and see if Mme. Pascal needs any help in the kitchen." Azelma scampered off down the stairs. Javert went over to the bed and set the tray down on the small bedside table. Eponine awoke with a start, and scowled at Javert. "Why didn't you wake me up?" she grumbled. "I don't recall being asked to wake you, Mlle. Thénardier," replied Javert, "And you looked as though you needed sleep." Eponine yawned and stretched; her neck and shoulders were stiff from sleeping propped up against the headboard. A smile tugged at her lips when she looked down at Gavroche and saw his small hand wrapped around hers; she ruffled his hair as a substitute for a kiss. "Has he woken up yet?" she asked. "Not yet," said Javert, He took a damp cloth from the tray he had brought in and laid it across Gavroche's forehead. "The doctor should be here soon," he said.
Gavroche began to cough violently. Javert grabbed his shoulders and helped him sit up. "Cover your mouth," he said, thrusting a handkerchief in front of the boy's face. Gavroche looked up at Javert; his eyes grew wide. "Wh-what's he doing here?" he stammered, his voice hardly above a whisper, "Where––?" Another fit of coughing cut him off. "It's alright," said Eponine, "We had the luck to run into Inspector Javert, and he was kind enough to take us in. Don't you remember, he found us under the bridge and brought us here in a carriage?"
"I thought that was some crazy dream…" Gavroche murmured. He glanced up at Javert. "Um…hello, Inspector; it's, um––" A conveniently timed cough prevented him from having to think of what to say. "Ow…" he moaned. "Does it hurt?" Eponine asked. "Yeah, my chest hurts when I cough," said Gavroche, "and my throat hurts too." He lay back against the pillows with a miserable groan.
Javert, meanwhile, occupied by pouring a spoonful of medicine with careful precision. "Take this," he said, holding out the spoon to Gavroche. "Can't," Gavroche protested, "It hurts too much to swallow."
"This will help," said Javert, "Open your mouth."
Eponine prepared herself for a struggle, but to her surprise Gavroche took the medicine with only a slight grimace––too tired, she guessed, to put up much of a fight. "Good lad," said Javert, nodding his approval. "Mme. Pacal should be almost finished brewing the tea by now; I shall return directly." He got up and walked quietly out of the room.
"'Ponine?" Gavroche whispered once he had gone, "Are we under house arrest?"
Eponine frowned at Javert's retreating back. "I'm not sure," she said in a low voice, "But I wouldn't worry about that if I were you." You've got enough to worry about, she silently added. She stroked his hair and began humming quietly.
That's all for now; more to come soon! I know there's not much to review here, but if you would like to send get well wishes for Gavroche or advice for his caretakers, they would appreciate it very much!