Chapter Fifteen

The Amis React

Paris, 1832

Jean was dreading going to the café the next day. He knew that news travelled fast amongst his friends, even more so because Courfeyrac had been there, and he knew that there would be many uncomfortable questions.

Still, his worry over that matter was enough to take his mind of the eventuality of his night with Clementine. He hadn't expected her to request him not to go to the barricades if it came to it. He hadn't expected the sudden rush of tears that came from her. He hadn't expected the overwhelming feeling of protectiveness he had felt upon seeing her, weeping, curled up on his bed.

He knew he cared for her. He had noticed; he was not stupid. He enjoyed spending time with her, and he enjoyed their conversations. He liked listening to her talk about her world, which sounded fascinating to him, as well as hearing her opinions on literature. Jean found himself thinking of her during his waking hours, the small things that had nothing to do with the unusual situation they found themselves in and more to do with things like the way her hair fell over her shoulders and the dimple in her left cheek when she smiled and the way she gestured with her hands as she spoke.

He also had to consider the way he felt like punching his friends the night before for their wandering eyes. He didn't even want to think about how angry he got when Courfeyrac had kissed Clementine's hand.

Courfeyrac was the main reason he was reluctant to go to the café, as Courfeyrac was only rivalled by Grantaire in his ability to talk and tease; and more than that, it involved a woman. Jean hoped that Enjolras caught wind of it before it could really begin and make sure that it wasn't mentioned again. Their leader had very little time for such matters and usually became irritated by repeated mentions of romance during their meetings.

He arrived at the café before it had closed, so all of his friends were still in the front of the café; they were joined by Musichetta and Hélène, and waved him over as soon as he came through the door.

"Courfeyrac has been telling us all about last night's escapades," Bossuet said. Jean groaned internally.

"Oh, don't blush, Jehan," Courfeyrac sang, clapping him on the back as he sat down. "Mademoiselle Clementine was a charming young lady. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I'm not embarrassed," Jean shot back, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just don't understand why this interests you so much."

"It's because you've talked about Mademoiselle Clementine so much," Joly chipped in. "We all thought she was literally the girl of your dreams, but now we've seen her with our own eyes…"

"Now, now, Joly," Courfeyrac said, grinning, "It's complicated, remember?"

"Ah, yes, very complicated indeed," Joly said, matching the other man's smirk.

"How long has it been going on, then?" Bahorel demanded, waving his cup of wine around in the air.

"Just – a few weeks, that's all," Jean replied, "And it's really not what you're all implying it to be. We have mutual interests in certain fields and we talk."

"That doesn't sound very interesting," Joly said, wrinkling his nose.

"Maybe some men prefer intelligent conversation from their women," Jean said pointedly.

"Are you imply that my conversation isn't intelligent, Jehan?" Musichetta challenged, raising her eyebrows.

"No – no, I didn't mean to imply anything of the sort," Jean said. "I just meant that – Clementine and I – we're not – what I mean to say is, she is not my mistress, if that's what you're all thinking."

"You can forgive us for that mistake," Courfeyrac said. "If you consider how she was dressed and the fact she was in your house so late at night…"

"She didn't expect visitors, hence her clothes," Jean responded, feeling a little irritated that his friend remembered how much of Clementine's skin was on show.

"But it's all right for you to see her in that way?" Bahorel gripped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "We all saw the way you reacted when Courfeyrac kissed her hand, so I'm not exactly buying this…she's not my mistress idea you're spouting."

Jean cleared his throat. "I just didn't see a need for it, that's all."

"Excuse me," Hélène said in a quiet voice, getting to her feet. "I think it is time for me to leave."

The men around the table became very quiet as the woman briskly walked away from them, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders. Musichetta shot them all reproachful looks before hurrying after her friend.

Jean buried his head in his hand. "Thank you all for that."

"I completely forgot," Joly commented.

"Poor girl, she had about half an hour of us talking about Mademoiselle Clementine," Bossuet murmured.

"Look on the bright side of things," Bahorel suggested. "Now you have two women to choose from."

III

Later that evening, once the main part of their meeting was over, Jean found himself sat alone with Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

"Are you going to be leaving soon, Jehan?" Combeferre asked, as they watched the crowds in the room dwindle somewhat.

"Probably," Jean said.

"I expect he'll be wanting to get back to Clementine," Courfeyrac said, looking in the ceiling in a manner that suggested he was trying to appear innocent.

"Please, don't bring this up again," Jean said. "I don't see how it is anyone's business apart from mine."

"Whilst I agree with you on that point," Combeferre said slowly, "I must admit on some level I am curious as to where she came from. One minute she is just the girl you dream of and talk about occasionally, but have never met, even though you want to – and then, suddenly, she is in your house."

"I didn't mention I had met her earlier because I wanted to save myself some grief," Jean admitted. "Between all of my friends I have talked of little else all evening."

"You can understand why we're curious," Combeferre said. "Where did you meet her, out of interest?"

"Around," Jean said, being deliberately vague.

"She is a funny thing to meet around," Courfeyrac commented. "She speaks French with an accent –"

"She's English," Jean said.

"Yes, and she apparently speaks Greek better than you and knows Latin on top of that," Courfeyrac continued. "I don't know many girls wandering the streets who can speak those languages. In addition to that, she had a favourite ancient Greek playwright."

"What is your point?" Jean said, feeling a little defensive.

"Courfeyrac's point is that Clementine's parents clearly sought to give her an education," Combeferre said, shooting Courfeyrac a pointed stare. "There is nothing wrong with that, at all."

"It's part of the reason she and I get on so well," Jean said. "We can talk about the same things."

"It's just unusual," Courfeyrac said. His face was, for once, completely serious as he looked at Jean. "It's like she has appeared from thin air."

If only you knew, Jean thought to himself. Instead, he said, "If I'm being honest with both of you, I don't really understand most of it myself. I'm just dealing with it as it happens."

He collected his Aeschylus book and tucked it beneath his arm. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going home," he said. "I don't particularly want to talk about Clementine again tomorrow, please."

"I'll consider it," Courfeyrac said. "If I'm feeling generous, she won't be mentioned."

Jean resisted the urge to hit Courfeyrac about the head with his book.

"Good night," he said, instead, nodding at his friends.

"Good night," they chimed in unison.

With that, Jean left the café.