I am so sorry it has taken me this long to update! I've been incredibly busy with graduation, work and a bit of a whirlwind romance myself. :) Plus, I thought that our computer had gone dead, but it turns out that it still kind of works. Thank you to everybody who favorited and followed this! I've been writing in my notebook, so I'm pretty set. Here it is!

Chapter 5

It was late in the afternoon of the next day when Danielle realized she'd been expelled from Parisian society. There had been no calls, no invitations to tea or parties; not even a note to inquire as to her health. It was highly unusual, and her only explanation was that word had traveled of her nefarious deeds and no one of standing wished to be seen with her. She was alone. She was even afraid to leave the house; she could imagine the looks she would receive and the horrific sound of whispers behind her back. Even Raul had left her to go make plans for an Masquerade at the Opera house, which she had not been invited to attend. Her rich friends undoubtedly despised her and her poor friends felt betrayed by her.

She could no longer be the peasant girl; free of constrictions and rules and allowed to just be her God-given self. That girl she could never be again.

There came a knock on the door and Danielle sprang from her melancholy on the couch. Voices floated down the hall; Annette's and another deeper voice belonging to a man. They sounded sharp, as though disagreeing, until the bald head and large smile so characteristic of Bossuet peeked around the door.

"Good afternoon, gentle mademoiselle!" He greeted happily, "I've brought you flowers and your book, 'Sense and Sensibility'. Apparently, you were very absent-minded and left it at the Opera." He strolled in and held the tome out for her, "I suppose I should say, 'I meant to bring you flowers', because the flowers I did have for you fell from my hand, and by the time I had noticed it, they'd been trampled by a horse." Danielle laughed at him, and ignored that previous despondent attitude she's adopted that day.

"Well, in that case a book without flowers will do just fine." She replied as she delicately took the book from his grasp. "Thank you for bringing it back. And for...well...coming here." He looked at her questioningly.

"Why ever would you thank me for coming to visit you? It's an honor!" He outstretched his arm as an offering to sit and took his own seat as soon as she had.

"I believe I've been cut off from aristocratic society." She informed him glumly, while fingering a bracelet she wore.

"Is that a tragic event?" He asked, obviously believing the negative.

"Well, no. Not exactly." She looked around the room: at the rug, at the clock; anywhere but his amused face. She was intensely ashamed of how much she adored being amongst the wealthy. "I had good friends and now I'll never speak to them again." She cried dramatically and peeked to watch his reaction of her comedically done theatrics. But instead of the wide, toothy smile and smart remark she expected, she was met with an open, earnest expression as he put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.

"People who will leave you for something you've done are not your friends, Danielle. You didn't do anything wrong. You have to see that. Real friends are always there for you, through every storm and every victory. Real friends never leave, no matter the circumstances." He told her with conviction.

"I understand, thank you. I hope I have friends like that one day, but I wasn't serious. I had few friends among the aristocracy and those I did have were completely ridiculous! I will miss the entertainment they afforded me, though. But I think I'll miss the glamor of it all the most. And everybody tripping over their feet to make my acquaintance." She joked in her flippant way. Bossuet, like the gentleman he didn't realize he was, laughed heartily until he seemed to remember something.

"I brought Joly with me! He must be around here somewhere. Ah!" He snapped his fingers, "He was telling your housekeeper - Annette, was it? that he has the gout." He seemed pleased with himself and looked to Danielle, "How do you feel about going back to the cafe?" He asked kindly. She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, which, may it be said, was extremely unladylike.

"It frightens me." She confessed quietly, "They knew who I was and where I'd be. Someone had to have told them, and that terrifies me beyond reason. I shot a man, Bossuet! I didn't even think of it, I just did it. I pulled the trigger and...and," She looked down miserably, "I might've killed him."

"But he might also have survived!"Isn't that a nice thought?" He coaxed, trying to cheer her. She smiled through the tears she knew must come eventually.

"It's a much nicer thought than the alternative." She attempted to sound her usual light-hearted self as Joly strode in and flopped down unceremoniously on a desk chair across the room from the door.

"Your housekeeper didn't believe I had gout! I gave her all my symptoms and ailments and she declared it to be psychosomatic! Are you well, Mademoiselle De Chagny? You appear a bit peaked." He peered at her excitedly.

"No monsieur, I thank you. I am well." She shook her head, "Oh, forgive me! I made Bresilienones today, considering there was little else to do. Would you like any? Annette showed me how to make them; she's a very clever person." She cast a look to Joly, who remained oblivious and instead looked at her, amused.

"A Lady like you making petits fours for people such as us?" He grinned at her.

"Indeed, I was planning on eating them all myself, but since you're here I suppose I have to share." She sighed teasingly, "How did you know I lived here?" She inquired, realizing she had never told anyone her address.

"Enj - Uh, Prouvaire told us. We wanted to check in on you. There was very nearly a fight over who got to come. Bahorel took bets on the outcome. But in the end, it was Joly and I who won the honor of seeing you again."Bossuet grinned.

And that was it for Danielle. The tears that refused to be stemmed fell from her eyes as her nose turned red. She buried her face in her hands and shifted away from the two men. She figured Bossuet was joking when he said that they all wished to see her, but she felt so warmed from the thought anyway. How wonderful to have so many people care for her so much. It overwhelmed her that Joly and Bossuet would even be in her drawing room after knowing her for only one day. One day in which she fought with their good friend and leader, was accosted by two men for reasons she couldn't possibly know and then shot a person in the back with a pistol that might as well have been in her pocket. And still these two students treated her as a friend. She had never known people like this. Raul, once her only friend in the world, was nowhere to be found; probably at a party she wasn't invited to. The rain fell in synchronization with her tears as the two students watched in confusion. They neither of them had sisters or wives and knew not how to respond when a female cried. They looked to each other for inspiration and Bossuet moved to her side and patted her shoulder clumsily.

"There, there. It'll all be right." He consoled, "Do you cry all - ?" Joly cleared his throat loudly and moved to crouch in front of her and took one of her tear soaked hands in his.

"What is the matter, Mademoiselle?" He asked softly, secretly hoping that she had some physical malady. He could fix those.

"Be-before I came here I didn't...I didn't have friends," She admitted thickly, "I only met you yesterday and - and you've already been so, so good to me."

Bossuet, unable to stand too much melancholy - especially over something so silly as people being nice - stopped rubbing Danielles shoulder and took her unoccupied hand.

"Mademoiselle, I understand you wish to not go to the Cafe, but tomorrow there is a masquerade at the Opera Populaire. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?" He spoke very formally, but with sparkling eyes. She turned to him and laughed pitifully, putting the students more at ease.

"I would be delighted to accept your invitation, Monsieur." Her eyes, too, held a mischievous glint through the tear clumped lashes and red rimmed lids. "But you are wrong. I do wish to go to the Cafe. I need to thank Monsieur Enjolras for...for everything." She looked sternly at both students, "I would like to do so alone."

"If you wish to be completely alone, you may have to wait awhile." Bossuet informed her, "There'll be people coming and going until our meeting tonight. After that, Enjolras usually stays late." He spoke seriously for perhaps the first time since Danielle had met him. She nodded thankfully and stood.

"How would you like those cookies now?"

Danielle waited until the house was asleep before she decided to go to the Cafe Musain. Summoning Alain, she tugged on her boots and ran down their wooden stairs. The man was waiting for her near the door.

"Alain, I must go to the Cafe Musain. It's urgent." She told him as she passed to the front steps. She grabbed her umbrella and walked into the night. It might seem like a foolish thing to do, especially considering the fact that she was nearly abducted only the day before, but she needed answers. And when she needed answers, nothing was too foolish for her.

They arrived at the Cafe a short time later and Danielle instructed Alain to wait for her downstairs. It was late; there was no raucous laughter, no jesting yells to be heard upstairs, but that comforted her. That meant less people to ask questions. She climbed the stairs purposefully and only thought about how idiotic she was being when she arrived on the landing, in sight of the second story. The lights were low and cast long shadows on the walls and floors. There were only two people, three, if you counted her . A man unconscious from drinking at a table, and Enjolras; furiously writing by candlelight to her far left. She approached as quietly as she could, but a floorboard creaked and he looked up at her, surprised.

"Hello, Monsieur." She greeted quietly.

"Hello, Mademoiselle De Chagny." He responded curtly. She sighed heavily and walked closer to him.

"You must be angry. I understand. I lied to everybody. " She said miserably, clasping her hands and ducking her head, standing like a repentant child. He looked to her sharply.

"I am not angry, Mademoiselle. I knew what you were the moment I saw you." He replied dismissively.

"Why did you not expose me? It is surely an arrestable offense." She inquired.

"I knew you would expose yourself soon enough. You were never careful, and a terrible liar. But you seemed to do the people around here some good. Why would I wish to end that?" He responded as though it were incredibly obvious. She nodded and sat down. Normally she would've been annoyed with his condescension towards her, but she was too tired. He looked back to his writing.

"Thank you Enjolras." His head snapped back up when she said his name, "For what you did."

"Any of us would have done the same. You may not realize it, but everybody here has quickly become fond of you." He dismissed her thanks with a wave of his pen.

"It didn't take long, did it?" She laughed softly.

"Sometimes it doesn't take long at all. If you don't use your brain." He looked back to his papers. Her eyebrows raised and eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean, Monsieur? That none of your friends have brains because they're stupid enough to like me after one day? Well, there is something I can say to that: at least I am capable of being liked. At least there are people who care about me. Can the same be said for you?" She spat angrily.

"You misunderstand." He mumbled, still absorbed in his writing. She groaned loudly and dramatically. She had been looking for a fight and he had denied her the satisfaction. They sat in quiet for a few minutes, she collecting herself and he scratching at his paper.

"Did I kill that man today? The one I shot." She asked with trepidation. She had been told that he had lived by people who weren't there and didn't know what happened. She needed to hear it from Enjolras. She looked down at the floor, away from his accusing eyes. But then, he laughed. She looked back up at him; he was looking at her, icy blue eyes shining, crinkling at the edges and lips forming a smile that seemed altogether foreign to his face. He was laughing at her. She gaped at him, but waited for an answer to her question.

"I've never seen someone transition so easily from angry and defensive to vulnerable and scared." He laughed again, "Your face is quite expressive." She had a feeling that this was the nicest thing he was capable of saying. "You didn't kill him." Thank God for Enjolras putting her out of her misery. She was beginning to think that he was avoiding telling her because she was a killer.

"Really? He's all right?" She could cry from relief.

"Mademoiselle," He leaned forward, "He's been shot."

"Oh, yes! People generally aren't alright after being shot!" She looked at him seriously, "You would be surprised how worried I was." She laughed out of sheer relief.

"I really don't think it would surprise me." He replied sardonically.

"Naturally, you know everything, so therefore nothing could surprise you." She said lightheartedly. The rain was pouring down the windows and beating the roof overhead. "I think that we should be proud of ourselves. We haven't raised our voices at each other yet."

"We should organize a parade and host a ball in honor of this momentous occasion." He responded in that charming, yet condescending tone that he seemed to employ only on her. "It's getting very late. You should go home." That was as close to polite as he'd be to her. Nodding, she stood and brushed off her damp skirt primly.

"Farewell, Monsieur." He was gazing at his fascinating papers again, but surely he could hear her, "I won't ask you how or why you did it, but thank you." She walked to the stairs and paused, "Even though you did act like an insufferable sycophant." She didn't wait for a reply before rushing down the stairs and hurrying from the Cafe. If she had looked back at the window as she pulled her hood over her hair and walked quickly down the street, she would have seen the outline of a man with gold hair watching after her, the warmth and light from the Cafe at his back.