Heh…two chapters in two days. Shows how hard I'm studying for finals…

Okay, so I have a question for y'all!

Should I keep it true to the book, and have Feuilly kick it, or should I go off the beaten path and let him live? Your decision! There's already one vote for Feuilly living, and I've got a plausible way to do it. I think. Or should 'Ponine die? Or should they both die? Ack.

Opinions please!

Eponine pushed her way through the streets, getting bumped and jostled, but being careful to keep her feet, well aware of the fact that if she went down, she wouldn't make it back up before she was trampled by the feet of the rioters.

There were mostly men in the streets, although a few prostitutes waved at them from the corners by the docks, and some women straggled along with the rioters. She was on the verge of panic now, wondering if she should have stayed at the book shop and let Feuilly seek her out. The fear seemed to make her stronger, and she shoved past the students faster now.

"Long live Poland!" she heard someone cry. Feuilly's voice. Only he would call out about Poland when there was a riot in France. Eponine turned toward the voice and saw him, a naked sword in his hand, marching in front of a group of the ABC Friends.

"Feuilly!" she shouted, "Feuilly!"

He turned toward her, and his face registered first shock, and then anger. Eponine was soaked, her hair plastered to her face, which was very pale.

"Eponine! What are you doing out here? Go home, you'll be hurt!"

"No! I'm staying with you," she said stubbornly.

"You can't," he said, more gently now, "please, Eponine."

"I won't leave you!" she cried, stomping her foot. She knew it was childish, but she was so overwhelmed by everything around her that words had left her. A gunshot cracked overhead, and everyone jumped. A woman nearby screamed.

"Feuilly, we've got to go. Now!" Enjolras said sternly, "Let her come if she wishes."

"All right," Feuilly groaned, "Combeferre, toss her one of your pistols. I won't have you unarmed."

"Do you know how to use it?" Combeferre asked. Eponine shook her head.

"I'll teach you as we walk. Come along," he said, "it's really quite simple. This is the hammer, see. It's already loaded. All you've got to do is pull the hammer back and pull the trigger. Try to keep it out of the rain so that the powder doesn't get wet. Understand?"

"Yes," Eponine said breathlessly, taking the heavy weapon.

"To the barricades!" Enjolras cried.

"To the barricades!" a high-pitched, childish voice echoed. Eponine turned toward it, and let out a cry of horror.

"Gavroche! What are you doing here?"

"You know this urchin?" Courfeyrac asked.

"He's my brother!" Eponine said, "Go home, Gavroche."

"I thought 'Zelma told you, 'Ponine. We got no home. They took it away. I been livin' on the street."

"Then find somewhere safe!"

" I'm goin' to the barricades! An' you can't control me anymore than that man can control you!" Gavroche cried, banging at a shutter with the butt of a triggerless pistol he had picked up somewhere. Eponine looked pleadingly at Feuilly, but he was preoccupied with his march, bare sword held high.

The mob made its way down the Rue Saint-Denis, passing by the end of the Rue de la Chanvrerie.

"Courfeyrac! Courfeyrac! Hohee!" someone cried out from the other end of the Rue de la Chanvrerie. It was Bossuet, calling out to them.

"Where are you going?" Bossuet cried.

"To make a barricade!" Courfeyrac called back.

"Well, here! This is a good place! Make it here!"

"That is true," Courfeyrac replied, signaling the crowd to flood into the wine shop. Feuilly placed Eponine next to Joly at the window as the students constructed their barricade, unpaving the streets and piling up the paving-stones, wrenching iron bars from the front of the wine shop, and barrels of lime were flanked by empty winecasks.

Eponine watched Feuilly, with his hands that painted so delicately and beautifully, stack heaps of stone behind the barrels and casks. She hadn't seen where he had gotten them.

Meanwhile, Enjolras had delivered a speech to Grantaire that Eponine had not heard, but seemed to have an effect on the drunkard as if he would have had a glass of cold water thrown in his face. He stumbled to the table near Eponine and Joly, and laid his head down.

"Let me sleep here."

"Go and sleep somewhere else!" Enjolras cried. Grantaire fixed him with a sad gaze.

"Let me sleep here – until I die."

Eponine heard none of the rest of the conversation. She went pale, and her knees felt weak. Joly caught her just in time, producing smelling salts just in case.

"I'm fine," Eponine murmured, "that remark…it just surprised me."

"You must ignore him, Eponine," Joly said earnestly, "if you listen to him, you'll worry yourself to death."

She regained her feet and they stood together, looking upon the completed barricade. A red flag waved over it. Someone had drug a table out of the wine shop, and Courfeyrac stood on it, distributing cartridges. Eponine and Joly slowly made their way down, and accepted some. Feuilly took Eponine aside, showing her how to load both her pistol and a rifle that he had attained, just in case.

"Don't shoot the rifle if you can help it," he advised, "it'll break your shoulder."

"All right."

"See the little square on the end of the barrel?"

"Yes."

"When you're aiming, line that up with the notch in front of the hammer. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Feuilly?"

"Yes, 'Ponine?"

"I…will I have to shoot someone?" she asked timidly.

"I don't know 'Ponine," Feuilly replied tiredly, "I really wish you hadn't come, you know."

"I had to!" she began to cry, "I couldn't bear to stay at home and be afraid for you!"

"Oh, ma chère," he said tenderly, gathering her into his arms.

"Tell me everything will be all right. Please."

"I can't, chère," he replied, with the air of one explaining something to a child, "I must fight for my country. Promise me something."

"Anything," she replied eagerly.

"If I should die," he put a finger to her lips as she sucked in a sharp breath, "I want you to promise me that you will go on with your life. You will continue to work at the book shop, and you will find another suitor."

"I can't-"

"Promise me, Eponine," he said desperately, taking her by the shoulders. She nodded silently, tears streaming down her face. He kissed her passionately then, holding her close and stroking her hair until the tears stopped. Eponine took a deep breath.

"I saw some other women over there, doing something. Can I help them?"

"Of course, ma chère. They're making lint. I'm going to find a few of my friends, and speak to them."

She left, and Feuilly found his closest circle from the Friends of the ABC, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel, and a few others. They took refuge in the wine shop, reciting love verses.

"Mon ami, promise me something," Feuilly burst out suddenly, looking distressed.

"What is it?" Combeferre asked.

"Promise me …if I should die for our cause, take care of Eponine. I fear for her if she is alone."

"Of course, Feuilly," Combeferre replied. Outside, someone had lit a lamp, and a wax torch. It illuminated the scarlet flag with an awful purple color, which made Feuilly's stomach turn in a most unpleasant sensation.

Click review, click review! Let me know if you want Feuilly to live or die!