Chapter Eleven

The Concern of Joly and Bossuet

Paris, 1832

"Monsieur Prouvaire, would you mind if I sat with you?"

Jean looked up from his scribbling in his Aeschylus book to see Hélène smiling down at him.

She was a young grisette, working as a seamstress, and friends with Joly's mistress Musichetta. She often visited the Café Musain during the day, before the meetings began in the evening. She was a short woman, with a slender, gently curving figure, and a cloud of brown curls she had somehow managed to tame into a ponytail at the base of her skull. She stood before him today holding on to the shawl draped around her shoulders, her hands small and pale against the deep green of the fabric.

"Not at all, mademoiselle," Jean said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "It is late for you."

"Oh, I know," Hélène replied with a small smile, lowering herself into the proffered chair. "Musichetta said she would meet me here, but…" She gestured to somewhere over Jean's shoulder, and he turned to look. He saw Musichetta, a very pretty seamstress with auburn hair, leaning against one of the café's walls whilst talking to Bossuet and Joly. "They're a little preoccupied, as you can see."

A few seconds went by in a slightly awkward silence. Jean had spoken to Hélène a handful of times before; she often expressed an interest in whatever he was writing or reading, and seemed excited to prove that she was just as literate as he. Other times, she seemed to struggle to know what to say to him, and this was clearly one of those occasions. Still, it had never stopped her from trying to engage him in conversation.

"So, what are you writing today?" she asked, giving him a sunny smile.

He glanced down at the page and tapped his pencil against the tabletop. Clementine had claimed to own his own personal copy of Aeschylus' plays in the time she lived in, and he had wondered whether it could be a way for him to communicate with her. Hélène had actually caught him in the middle of writing a letter to Clementine, as a test, to see whether or not he could leave her messages in the book. He supposed he would find out that evening, as he had seen Clementine every night now since she had first appeared in his bedroom.

"Oh, something and nothing," he said, not sure he wanted to share this with Hélène, a woman he barely knew. The teasing he got off his friends was bad enough, after all.

As he finished speaking, he closed the book in case she tried to read it. He looked up at Hélène in time to catch the slightly disappointed look that flitted across her face. Feeling bad, he said, "It was just a reminder to…Buy something. A new book. A friend was discussing The Iliad with me and I decided I wanted to read the full version."

"I've never heard of that," Hélène said. "What's it about?"

Jean let out a small sigh and prepared to explain, as briefly as he could, the plot of The Iliad. He was saved from this task by the arrival of Musichetta, who appeared next to their table accompanied by Joly and Bossuet.

"Are you ready to leave, Hélène?" Musichetta said.

Hélène raised an amused eyebrow. "As if it was me causing the hold up," she said, in a teasing voice. Her eyes slid from her friend back to Jean, and she stood up. She placed one of her hands on Jean's shoulder and squeezed. "You can tell me all about it the next time we see each other," she said. "Au revoir, Monsieur Prouvaire."

Joly took her vacated seat and Bossuet the one on Jean's other side as the two women left the café. Jean watched them leave, feeling the pressure of Hélène's hand on his shoulder. Then he glanced around to his friends. "What time does the meeting begin tonight?" he said.

"When the café closes, I suppose," Bossuet replied, picking at a loose thread on his waistcoat.

Joly, however, was staring at Jean with an amused twist to his mouth. "How was your conversation with Hélène?"

"I would hardly call it a conversation, Joly," Jean sighed, knowing where this was heading. "We talked for a few minutes whilst you said goodbye to Musichetta."

"What do you think of Hélène?" Joly pushed.

Jean sighed once more. "Joly, you really have no concept of subtlety."

"I'm not trying to be subtle, that's why," Joly said. "Musichetta confided in me the other night that Hélène finds you to be quite handsome."

Jean felt his face heat up at Joly's words. He cleared his throat and rubbed the side of his neck. "Does she?"

"She does."

He thought about Hélène, with her almost-black curls and petite form, that very sunny smile and sweet attempts to engage him in conversation. After not very long at all, his mind changed the small woman into one that was slightly taller, curvier in shape, almost plump, with a tangle of fair hair and freckles. Thinking of Hélène in these terms – considering her attractiveness, and responding to Joly's decision to tell him she was attracted to him – was beginning to feel like a betrayal to Clementine.

He shook his head. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You could try and look pleased," Bossuet suggested. "Hélène's pretty enough. Courfeyrac is desperate for her to show him some attention."

"Courfeyrac is desperate for any woman to show him attention," Jean said. "I think Hélène is a nice girl, but…"

Joly groaned. "If you're going to start talking about that girl you dream of, I'm leaving," he warned.

"I wasn't," Jean insisted, even though he had been about to mention her. "She's not just that girl I dream of, she's –" He cut himself off, knowing deep down that it was not a good idea to mention the fact she'd been magically appearing in his bedroom every night for about a week. He swallowed. "It's – it's more complicated than that."

Bossuet and Joly stared at him, and then they exchanged slightly worried glances with one another.

"Maybe," Joly said slowly, "Hélène would distract you from your dreams."

Immediately, Jean shook his head. "No."

"Jehan –" Bossuet tried, but Joly pushed his chair out, the legs scraping loudly across the tiled floor. He stood up.

"No," he said, in the firmest voice he could manage. "I am not going to start chasing after Hélène. I'm not expecting any of you to understand what's going on, so just stop trying to give me advice about it."

"We just want to help," Joly said. "We're worried about you."

Jean picked up his book and tucked it underneath his arm. "Let me worry about myself," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "Please, just – just leave me to it."

Spotting other friends of theirs gathering on the other side of the room, Jean turned around and walked over to join them, trying to force the combined images of Hélène and Clementine to the back of his mind.