Chapter 3 – In Which Gueulemer Utters Wisdom
The gentle spring breeze rustled Montparnasse's coattail as the dandy expertly weaved through the labyrinth of Paris byways. On a course towards La Salpêtrière during daylight hours, he took further precautions in the deserted streets he traversed, masking himself in the shadows. Although it was barely morning and most Parisians were immersed in slumber, a Patron-Minette member could not afford to lack vigilance. After he had traveled a considerable distance away from his residence, he allowed more thoughts to lurk about in his mind. As his eyes watched the muddy pavestones pass beneath his feet, Eponine once again fell into the spotlight of his thoughts. A smile stealthily crept upon his lips as senseless reveries invaded his head. She was skipping beside him, laughing merrily about something utterly irrelevant, constantly calling him 'Parnasse. An ambiance of lightheartedness was radiating from her as she flashed a grimy grin, content to folic through the desolate alleys in her deteriorating rags. Not a soul was present to mock either of them. Her incomprehensible cheerfulness possessed the power to enliven even Montparnasse's irritable mood.
Suddenly a chorus of boisterous noises reclaimed Montparnasse from his fantasy. Lifting his eyes from the pavement, he realized that he was no longer roaming through a barren street. His mental diversion had altered his path, directing him straight into a swarming market street. Reality instantly returned; he was late for his meeting and Eponine hadn't been frolicking beside him, almost certainly still in his apartment gorging herself on bread. "How could I have allowed my mind to wander so foolishly?" he chided himself, recoiling into the shadows cast by the towering buildings. His shady sanctuary was conveniently nestled between an abandoned cart and a street lamp, shielding him from public viewing. Dismissing the odd occurrence, he promptly refocused on his assignment, scanning the area for any alternate routes.
Typical to all Parisian markets, the square was brimming with life. Many a bourgeois strolled about on their respective errands, while others were simply basking in the morning radiance. Pompous politicians and dignified merchants were strutting about in a flock of dandies, causing Montparnasse to grit his teeth in envious disdain. A biting urge to permanently end their flaunting coursed through his cold blood as his fingers mechanically grasped the handle of his knife. However, his immense experience in his occupation prevented him from executing such acts in public. Removing his eyes from the dandies to alleviate his rage, his sights were directed towards a fine cluster of groomed women standing before the jewelry peddler. Bearing much similarity to the exquisite ladies in the garden, they twirled their parasols and flaunted their ostentatious gowns as they gossiped amongst themselves. With fashion ever on his mind, he critiqued their attire and after a few moments deemed them chic. "Eponine, if only you would strip these young ladies of that fine merchandise," he muttered as if the waif were crouching beside him in the shadows.
Ladies were draped in the finest of silks, walked in the most attractive slippers, and were bedecked in all that sparkled and enticed. Their mannerisms were beyond reproach and their social status was extremely elevated. They were gorgeous little angels floating above the rest of Paris on their pedestals of perfection. The ideal woman. Never would a snide remark be uttered about Montparnasse if they were who he consorted with. With his attractive appearance, he had but to open his arms and a multitude of these polished china dolls would flock to him. Perfume and silk would flourish. Squalid tatters would vanish. Why not chose a mistress from this crop of women?
Focusing intently on the dainty creatures, Montparnasse watched as one bashfully waved to handsome young fellow before shrinking back behind her fan with a giggle. A groan escaped the criminal witnessing the scene. There was his answer. While the attire was sublime, Montparnasse detested the women inside the resplendent apparel. Pompous, pretentious, flimsy, and gutless. They would never endure the treatment Montparnasse gave Eponine without constant deafening shrieks. These dolls were too easily broken. Although she was unsightly, Eponine was sturdy; the model mistress of a bandit. If he was a bourgeois he could afford keeping a timorous poodle, but consequently he settled for Eponine. There was no conceivable way to have both beauty and backbone, was there? An indiscernible shade of an idea was about to form in the depths of the assassin's mind…
"Oy, it's M'sieur Montparnasse! What'cha doin' 'ere on this lovely mornin'?"
Although Montparnasse did turn his gaze towards the threadbare garb, unwashed complexion, bright brown eyes, and the mesh of curly dark locks peeking out from under a Gatsby cap, the voice was all that he required to determine the addresser's identity. Little Gavroche had arrived. Instinctively the felon seized the boy's sweaty hand and forced him down into the obscurity. "Don't draw so much attention!" he whispered harshly. "How'd you notice me?"
Brushing off his oversized workmen's coat, Gavroche situated himself in a more comfortable position, sitting beside the crouching man on the pavement. "Easy," he answered nonchalantly. "You stick out like a sore thumb."
In response, Montparnasse released a grunt as he tentatively scanned the multitude. Although he doubted he had been detected by another, he crouched further behind the cart to ensure his concealment. With his eyes still focused intently on the market square, he searched beseechingly for an escape from the gamin. He understood what awaited him if he remained in Gavroche's company. In addition, the boy's accent was quite contagious.
Gavroche eyed the man for a moment in silence, attempting to discern his current activity. Was he simply making mischief like a mirthful gamin (which would be quite pleasing to Gavroche), or was he engrossed in a critical Patron-Minette assignment? After wiping his runny nose blatantly, he posed a question. "'Ow's my sister? You were with 'er weren't ya?"
Tearing his eyes away from his examination, Montparnasse glared furiously at the bothersome nuisance. Gavroche returned the assassin's intimidating glower with an arrogant grin. Only one family was capable of remaining undaunted before the malign cut-throat. "Yes, I was with her," he grumbled, returning his sights to the scene before him. Perhaps ignoring the boy would compel him to depart.
"She must 'ave liked that," Gavroche responded, desiring to prolong the conversation. "Though I rarely see 'er, when I do she always talks 'bout ya. Says ya smell pretty. Can I 'ave a whiff?"
As the gamine moved closer to him, Montparnasse swiftly backed up in repulsion. "No. You're as grimy as your sister."
"I think grimier!" Gavroche declared with a triumphant smile. "I was just rollin' in the mud with some other swine. You should try it some time, M'sieur!" When Montparnasse didn't respond, again observing the mass, Gavroche inched closer. "Ya gonna rob someone?" he whispered. Rising up slightly, he peered over the cart in attempt to discern which character was the dandy's victim.
"No," he muttered without altering his line of sight.
"Ya gonna kill someone?" Gavroche asked eagerly as if he were awaiting the commencement of a carnival.
With a fiery glance towards the gamin, Montparnasse answered, "It's dreadfully tempting…"
Oblivious to the irritation he was provoking, the child continued vivaciously. "If ya've been with Eponine then why's ya up so early? I usually don't spot ya till dusk."
"I'm needed," the dandy replied. Avoiding eye contact had proved unsuccessful, but perhaps if he provided minimal answers Gavroche would run out of questions and disappear.
"Where?" Gavroche probed with immense curiosity. Snooping was decidedly his specialty.
"Can't say."
Slumping down on the pavement, frustrated Gavroche reexamined his battle tactics. Montparnasse was tremendously secretive; information extracted from him inflated Gavroche with satisfaction. Currently he was behaving like a jar of marmalade refusing to open. At that moment a method for prying open the stubborn jar occurred to him. "Ah, goin' t' see another lady friend! I see! Don't be cheatin' on my sister, 'cause I'll tell 'er. Maybe I don't like 'er that much, but she's flesh an' blood. Ya gotta treat 'er right, M'sieur!"
Now that he was being accused of infidelity, which astonishingly was not yet on his extensive list of crimes, Montparnasse turned his attention towards Gavroche. With ferociously knitted eyebrows, he directed his most piercing glare into the eyes of the gamin. Although he didn't truly expect the boy to flee like a frightened puppy, he also didn't suppose him to return the glare. A boy of eleven was capable of mirroring his fearsome murderer's glare! Thus the stare-off began. The inconspicuous corner in the shadows was as silent as a coffin during those few moments. Both obstinate boys, though one was considerably older, refused to shrink. Vexed by Gavroche's endurance, Montparnasse eventually broke the silence. "What are you, her father? I treat her perfectly fine. I even provided her with breakfast this morning."
With eyes brightening back to their usual cheerful state, Gavroche nodded in approval. "Good." Silence ensued, inspiring in Montparnasse relief that Gavroche was satisfied and had relented. Gavroche, however, was not in the least way content. "So then where are ya off to?"
An exasperated groan escaped the dandy. "It doesn't concern you!"
Bearing an impish grin, Gavroche relentlessly pursued. "C'mon, ya can tell me. I'm trustworthy. Didn't tell the cops 'bout that ancient vase ya swiped from the Luxembourg last fall."
Montparnasse, aggravated and delayed, felt thwarted. If he simply arose and continued his journey, the pest would undoubtedly trail him. Even if he navigated through the most treacherous byways, the nimble creature would somehow persist. And the boy made a valid point; while he had knowledge of many of Montparnasse's offenses, he had yet to report them. Perhaps he was indeed reliable. Heaving a sigh, the dandy acquiesced. "Fine." While leaning forward and placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "The Patron-Minette is gathering today."
"Ah!" breathed Gavroche. His eyes flickered in delight as he realized he was now privy to the most accomplished gang of crooks in Paris. "But why so early?"
Before breathing the next piece of information, Montparnasse inched even closer. "A grand mansion on the Rue des Champs-Élysées will be vacant tonight. The masters are going on vacation and there will be but a few female maids inside. Old ladies I hear, and very heavy sleepers. We must prepare."
"'Ow thrillin'!" Gavroche enthused, restraining himself to the most excited whisper he could muster. "Is Eponine gonna go too?"
A look of horror passed over Montparnasse's face, reacting as if Gavroche had asked him to do the unthinkable: shave off his ravishing dark locks! "'Ponine? No. Definitely not," he replied firmly. "We don't operate well on assignments together. She is far too…distracting."
With a sly understanding grin, the eleven-year-old chuckled. "Ah, I see!"
Initially Montparnasse was disturbed that a child comprehended what he was implying, but a remembrance of his childhood days returned to him. Living on the streets since a very early age, Montparnasse had always known more than was considered proper.
Pulling his cap down over his eyes, Gavroche arose from the pavement. "Well, I'll be seein' ya. Got some more folks to torment!"
"Adieu," the dandy muttered in relief as the urchin finally vanished. Deciding to advance before another hindrance occurred, he promptly rose to his feet and smoothed the wrinkles in his morning coat. Once he was convinced that his coat had reached maximum perfection, he licked his finger and replaced the curls that had strayed from their proper position. With a few adjustments to his cravat and the wilting rose in his buttonhole, he was prepared to glide through the swarm. Preening was always a necessity for such undertakings. As he stepped out from behind the cart, blending into a cluster of bourgeois, he considered his withering rose. Currently he didn't possess a sufficient amount of time for a flower cart theft, but perhaps after the conference it would be possible.
With adept weaving and evading employed, Montparnasse navigated through the market and entered the next alleyway in approximately five minutes. During those few minutes his agile fingers had acquired three wallets, five lace handkerchiefs, a silver watch, and a strand of pearls; all of which had been victoriously deposited in his own enormous pockets.
On his journey Montparnasse maneuvered through countless alleyways, some more treacherous than others, all bearing one identical characteristic: obscurity. A typical Parisian would never advance farther than the first alleyway, blind by darkness and unnerved by the bleakness. Such was what proved it superlative for the bandit's wayfaring. He was now well acquainted with a great percent of Paris' nefarious labyrinths and traversed with the utmost ease.
At length he reached La Salpêtrière without another incident, ensuring his timely arrival at the Patron-Minette meeting. Concealed behind a cluster of decrepit buildings, the majority at least half demolished, was a relatively small abandoned field forgotten by almost everyone, including the police. That was what ordained it a hideout for the Patron-Minette. The diminutive shack tucked away amidst the shadows of the decaying buildings provided exceptional security.
Although miles away from any prying eyes, Montparnasse had yet to let his guard down. While fording through the impetuous sea of shriveled weeds, he took every fathomable precaution to avoid rustling the parched grass. As he danced through the unyielding tangle of thistle, he regarded neither the overcast sky nor the crisp breeze. Nature was insignificant in his mind, thus he overlooked it. Because it granted him no bliss, he sought after what would indulge him: Paris – an inorganic jungle of pleasures to be seized.
Not until Montparnasse had crossed the threshold into the dim, fetid, humid, dilapidated room reeking of brandy and tobacco did he slightly relax. Occupying the entire room were three men, each in their own respective positions. Babet, short and rather plump, was seated on a splintery stool enjoying a pipe. His stool was near to collapsing as he lounged with his bare feet propped up on a timbered table. The table was furnished with a number of bottles, a disintegrated candle, and a tattered map, the latter of which burly Gueulemer was attempting to scrutinize without inhaling the fumes wafting from Babet's toes. Claquesous, as was customary, was leaning against the wall in the far corner, almost entirely veiled in the shadows. Such was the type of atmosphere only the most dastardly of creatures could survive. The smoke of the pipe did not suffocate them, nor did the darkness of the boarded-up windows blind them. If daylight hadn't penetrated the shack through the innumerable cracks in the walls, replacing the dissipated candle would have been mandatory. Ducking through the doorway that only truly suited Babet, Montparnasse was detected, summoning the attention of all three inhabitants.
"Ah, well look who's finally 'ere!" Babet, who had temporarily removed his pipe to speak intelligibly, arose in his greeting.
"You're late!" grunted Gueulemer with a voice so heavily roughened by alcohol it resembled a bear's growl. Although his voice bore vehemence, his relaxed shoulders conveyed his relief that Babet had removed his feet from the table.
Having approached the round wooden table, the heart of where all felony was conceived, Montparnasse seated himself upon his reserved seat, a stool slightly less eager to distribute splinters than the others. "I was detained."
Eyes illuminating with exhilaration, Babet retook his seat. "Ah! Ya finally got yourself a new mistress! Good boy!" His exclamation was immediately followed by a horrendous nasally cackle. "Hah! Your old one was more 'ideous than Gueulemer!"
While Gueulemer was voicing his objection, Montparnasse's eyebrow twitched. He habitually refrained from losing his composure until the others had. As the youngest of the gang he was required to prove his maturity. "Eponine is still my mistress," he stated flatly.
Babet's features contorted into a revolted grimace as he eyed the dandy. "Oh, c'mon boy, you can do better than that! Look at ya!" Arising from his seat, he approached Montparnasse and commenced circling about him with contemplation. "A splendid hat!" His calloused hand collided with the fine material of the young man's hat. "Wavy locks! Oh, how I miss my hair! And a fine complexion for a crook, I'll say! Stylish coat –" he lightly tugged on the coat sleeve – "A rose in your buttonhole! Why, them ladies must be launching themselves at ya! Look at all your options!"
Straightening his displaced hat and removing Babet's foul hand from his coat, Montparnasse remained silent and indecipherable. Thus his compatriots were permitted to continue.
While Babet again plopped down on his stool and took up his pipe, Gueulemer spoke up. "Hah! I can still remember that fateful evening when ya introduced her to us as your mistress! We had such a laugh! Thought ya were the best joker in Paris!"
"Looked like a junkyard next t' a mansion is what!" Babet chortled, his pipe in his mouth. Due to his barbarous laughter, he inhaled an excessive amount of smoke and began to hack. None would have noticed, however, for his cough and his laugh sounded entirely identical.
"And them rags!" Gueulemer mentioned, although his own attire wasn't far from being considered that. "So 'orrible! Must've been covered in dung! She'd look better in nothing!"
Babet, having recovered from his coughing fit, set down his pipe and resumed his obnoxious cackle. "Oh no, don't say that! Probably looks worse! She's hardly even a dame after all!"
After considering Babet's words, a slightly confused expression appeared on Gueulemer's deformed face. "But what 'bout your saying "any dog looks like a goddess once ya strip 'er?" Y'always say that."
"Doesn't apply to this one, my friend!" chuckled Babet before tilting his head back and pouring brandy into his mouth. After a blatant gulp, he flung the empty bottle behind him, just narrowly avoiding the silent Claquesous. "Though brandy does help beautify them ogres. Ah! I see then! Hitting the bottle a little too often, eh Monty? Hah!"
"Not any more than you scum," Montparnasse muttered, attempting to restrain himself from exploding. He acknowledged Eponine's unattractiveness quite frequently and was growing considerably vexed with the topic. Sending a quick glance towards Claquesous' vicinity, he was somewhat curious as to what that enigmatic shadow was thinking.
Claquesous, having lingered patiently, expecting their nonsense to terminate soon, sensed Montparnasse's gaze. Without producing a single sound, he arose from the abyss and took his seat around the table. "Selecting Thenardier's daughter for a mistress does demonstrate questionable judgment, Montparnasse," he stated, his voice like an eerie whisper in the night. "However, we did not assemble to discuss such trivial matters. Now, concerning the Rue des Champs-Élysées robbery, I have already relayed the information I gathered. The only current residents are a number of elderly women..."
"Pick yourself up a mistress tonight, boy!" Babet suggested between two atrocious cackles. "Them old fart-bags'll be prettier than your Eponine!"
As Babet and Gueulemer broke out into a cacophonous symphony of laughter, Montparnasse felt his fists impulsively clenching. He had assumed Claquesous' mention of their imminent operation would remove them from the topic of his homely mistress. Aggravated to the core, the dandy finally unshackled his emotions. "Yes Eponine is an 'ideous little slut! I know that! 'Ow blind d'ya think I am? But she's none of your concern! Ya fixin' to run my life? Ya can't even run your own!" Only after the words had been released did Montparnasse realize the accent he had spoken in. Gavroche's accent, in conjunction with a little of Babet's and Gueulemer's, was highly contagious.
All three men, appalled to hear Montparnasse's refined accent turn so casual, had astonishment etched on their features, Claquesous' concealed by his mask. The rage on the dandy's face relaxed slightly, abated from being unleashed. When Babet had recovered his wits, he leaned closer to Gueulemer and whispered, "What's wrong with 'im?"
Straightening his cravat with dignity, Montparnasse spoke in his normal accent, with less exasperation.
"Eponine may not be gorgeous, but she's reliable. Those fragile dolls known as ladies could never endure me or my lifestyle."
"Guess ya can't have both beauty and durability," Babet pondered, fingering the cork of another bottle. "Still, it's a shame."
"'Ey, if ya aint got a pistol, stick your hand in your coat and pretend," uttered Gueulemer.
Slightly confounded by Gueulemer's metaphor, Montparnasse, on the verge of verbalizing another thought regarding Eponine, fell silent. Was Gueulemer suggesting imagining that repulsive Eponine was attractive? Such had been attempted before, but to no avail. Perhaps another possibility existed…No! The grand robbery merited absolute concentration. He could not allow any more thoughts of Eponine to disturb him. With a shake of his head, he endeavored to terminate the discussion. "My private life is my own affair. It doesn't concern you gents."
"Perhaps…" began Claquesous softly, glancing at the melted candle. "But your mental health does concern us. To remain a member of Patron-Minette, a completely sound mind is required." Irritated that the topic had not been dismissed, Montparnasse opened his mouth to protest, just to be silenced by Claquesous. "But I digress. Tonight's assignment is the essential matter." Thus a reviewing of tactics was launched.
As the four men poured over maps and floor plans, Montparnasse successfully accomplished focusing his mind on his one true passion, crime, and dispelling all other notions. In their scheming he both contributed greatly and listened intently. The others had soon forgotten about their little teasing festivity and were filled with their own emotions regarding the impending venture.
The conference ran for about three more hours, encompassing incredibly minuscule details such as the cricket population in the front lawn. All agreed that every single aspect of their operation should be planned out precisely to ensure success. Thus everything was discussed, from weapons to tools to attire to body weight. Each man was assigned his own duty according to his distinctive advantages and drawbacks. For instance, massive Gueulemer was not the ideal man for soundlessly sneaking about the marble dining room floor. Responding to detection was another key factor determined during the meticulous discussion. By the conclusive summary of the meeting, every man had their obligations committed to memory. If pillaging the opulent estate succeeded, they each could achieve their undisclosed desires. Montparnasse was especially eager to possess all the extravagant raiment the mansion had to offer.
Once every maneuver was devised, the Patron-Minette bandits went their separate ways: Gueulemer to procure some lunch, Babet to one of his fraudulent side jobs, Claquesous to lurk in the shadows in wait for victims, and Montparnasse to pickpocket in a local park.
As Montparnasse passed through the park's iron gates, feeling completely prepared for the break-in, his mind was concentrated wholly on his current activity. A rose had already been placed in his mouth, signaling his acute attentiveness. Strolling along the brick-laden paths, entirely ignoring the magic of spring, he had already targeted a number of prospective victims for his light fingers. A flock of perfectly groomed men were gathered near the fountain, basking in the warm sun and fresh air. Distracted by the scenery, these men proved superb prey for the dandy. Remaining absolutely casual, Montparnasse began advancing towards them. His appearance told of a man awestruck by the stunning scenery, but in reality his eyes were continually focused on his targets. Such was his ingenious method of eluding his possible audience. Not one of the blabbering bourgeois suspected that in a few moments they would be bereft of their wallet or pocket watch.
Fully prepared to slither by the first mark and extract a valuable item, Montparnasse continued to advance. Nearer and nearer he crept, always a second closer to expanding his pockets. He possessed impeccable confidence in himself, haughty and artful as he was. With the thrill of pickpocketing encompassing his thoughts, he felt even more impressive at that moment. However, that all vaporized when an unexpected individual crossed his path.
Now only a few feet away from the cluster of gentlemen, Montparnasse's eye happened to momentarily glimpse a further crowd. Clumsily weaving through the mass on a course towards the exit was an apparition. Any other would have regarded it as such, the creature being so hollow and emaciated. Montparnasse, however, was well accustomed to this individual. "Eponine…" he uttered through gritted teeth. Fortunately he had not been noticed by Eponine, and in a flash the haunting specter had been devoured by the throng.
Instantly Montparnasse's serene one-track mind was hurled into an abyss of chaos. His previous frustrations and consternations had reappeared to relentlessly provoke him. The wilting rose fell from his mouth and landed on the pavement, soon to be trampled by a dozen different feet. Images flashed through his mind; the four jeering ladies, the visions of Eponine's exaggerated wretchedness, the pleasure he derived from her company, the taunting Patron-Minette compatriots. Because of Eponine, Montparnasse was for the first time in his life feeling uncertain and befuddled. He had always known himself completely and was in full control of himself, and yet in two days he had been sent whirling into the unknown. Attributing these agonizing experiences to Eponine shifted the blame and resentment towards her, yet it made it no easier to consider disposing of her. If only a solution could be attained, then he could continue his normal crime-filled conduct without consequence. "Why does she have to so persistently haunt me?" he groaned in exasperation. A number of passersby examined him with hesitance before hastily departing, but none of this was noticed by the agitated dandy. Recalling the initial tranquility of his mind after the meeting just inspired more strife within. Glancing about him, he inwardly yearned for Eponine's presence to distract him like it had the previous night. How he longed to drag her into some deserted alleyway and beat her senseless for all the trepidation she had caused him. Montparnasse, noted for unwavering resolve and lack of conscience, was now experiencing tumult inside of him. Was there any abatement?
It was at that moment that Gueulemer's bizarre metaphor drifted back into his mind. "If you don't have a pistol, stick your hand in your coat and pretend," he repeated in a more dignified dialect. After a few more repetitions both mentally and verbally, a pedestrian shouldering by awakened him. Scanning his surroundings, he found himself where he had paused, standing like a living statue in the middle of a well-traveled path. Directly before him was nothing but empty pavement; sometime during his mental deliberation his victims had disappeared. Narrowly dodging two more collisions, Montparnasse made his way to the side of a path and perched himself on a stone bench. Perhaps if he was functioning normally he would have took advantage of his impact with pedestrians and acquired a few trinkets, but currently his mind was too absorbed with one matter: devising a permanent antidote for his 'thought disorder.' He was thinking and analyzing things way too excessively; such was not beneficial for a man of his profession.
Removing his hat and setting it beside him, Montparnasse's flawless posture became slumped as he bowed his head and clenched fistfuls of his hair. In this position he struggled to restrain and organize his rampageous thoughts. With eyes fiercely shut tight and a taut body, his turmoil was apparent to all observers. "What a poor young man," an old woman sympathetically commented on catching the sight. Montparnasse, furiously engaged in mental combat, was unaware of the attention he was drawing. Gueulemer's words threaded together in his mind, echoing infinitely. After minutes of effortless scrutiny, he raised his head and opened his eyes, finding a different position more manageable in his endeavors. Such would be more advantageous to his hair in the least.
What precisely was he rummaging through every dimension of his mind for? He himself possessed no answer. Anything that could console him and thrust him back into reality. He lacked understanding of why his mind was reacting in such a manner to something so trivial, but he apprehended one aspect: it required resolving before the forthcoming job. His brain was no longer abiding by his guidelines; it needed to be reoriented.
Undeterminable amounts of time lapsed as Montparnasse incessantly reanalyzed the situation. Time and again he pushed the concept of rejecting Eponine but could never bring himself to believing it conceivable. Without Eponine he would have to return to purchasing his pleasure, which in turn reduced the amount of other luxuries to procure. In addition, such a woman would simply be unbearable. Montparnasse enjoyed the fact that Eponine was his possession that no other man was permitted to touch. Women of the street belonged to everyone. Where was the pride in that? Heaving an infuriated groan, he clenched the fabric of his pant legs in frustration. All of these thoughts had already been multiply recycled, providing no solution. Another technique was mandatory.
Forgetting his present location, the dandy commenced a new deciphering method: verbal deliberation. Never before had he been presented with such impediments and was unaware of the best process of reasoning; thus, he tried what his inexperienced mind proposed. "'Ponine, do you know how complicated you're making my life? If you were here presently, do you know what I would do? Oh, you definitely don't want to know. Possessing such knowledge would overwhelm your miniscule brain." A number of bourgeois exchanged wary glances and swiftly moved away from the psychotic man talking to himself. For the umpteenth time that day, Montparnasse repeated Gueulemer's words. "If you don't have a pistol, stick your hand in your coat and pretend…Perhaps if I pick it apart…" After slowly repeating it a number of times without success, he cursed under his breath. "It appears so simple! How do I not comprehend this? He probably just meant pretend Eponine's a lady. That dunce! I would have to be blind, deaf, and paralyzed to believe Eponine wasn't a waif! All right, I've discovered the meaning of your ludicrous metaphor, Gueulemer. Topic dismissed!" And for a moment he snatched up his hat and arose from the bench, intending on leaving the tortuous place of thought, no closer to the solution than before. However, the spark of a new idea caused him to retake his seat. "Could such idiotic words contain the answer?" Perhaps it was just an impulse, but he felt himself approaching the end of the treacherous blind road. "Perhaps if I rephrase it. Pretend you have a pistol…put your hand under your coat and form a pistol…turn your hand into a pistol…" As he racked his brain he replaced his hat beside him, deeming the length of his stay great. "Turn your hand into a pistol…and turn Eponine into a lady!"
At last the nonsense of Gueulemer had been converted into wisdom! Was this the strange beckoning message encoded in the brute's meaningless suggestion? Could it be that simple? "Of course!" Montparnasse exclaimed, rising up. In a second he had been delivered from utter perplexity to complete satisfaction. He had decoded the perplexing words that had been relentlessly disturbing him! A means of repairing his strangely befuddled existence had finally materialized. New life surged through him; all of his trepidations vanished. "What a fool I am!" he chided himself. "Such a straightforward solution and it took me this long to interpret it? Montparnasse, you're slipping." A smile, radiating of pride and gratification, spread across his features, and in an instant he released a humorous chuckle. Ignoring the stares of ever-growing confusion from the pedestrians, the dandy placed his hat on his head and arose. Heading down the cobblestone path towards the exit of the garden, he couldn't contain the preparation in his mind. "I truly should have considered this option sooner. Eponine may not possess the skill and sense to obtain finer clothing, but I most certainly do! I'll dress her up like a doll!" Another laugh resounded from him. "How delighted she will be! She'll be forever in my debt once I slap on her a decent dress or two. That will undoubtedly benefit me. And being publically viewed with her will no longer bring ill repute." Casting a haughty glance at his exquisite attire, his pleased grin increased. "Yes, I shall be like a doctor, curing the style-depraved. Eponine shall be my patient. That little puppet would do anything I told her if she thought she would look attractive!"
With his chin raised an incalculable height, Montparnasse commenced down the avenue with an aura of self-admiration about him. He had favorably regulated his life in two seconds without causing any personal misery. His infallible plan was guaranteed to provide both parties with delight, although Montparnasse was more concerned with his end of the bargain. Instead of disgracing him as grungy Eponine had, elegant Eponine would certainly exalt him. "Wait…elegant Eponine?" Pausing under a lilac tree, the fop reanalyzed a mental image of Eponine, who bore an enormous lopsided grin on her filthy face. However, deeming his antidote inerrable, he laughed any forming qualms away. "It will unquestionably be a great challenge, but the most exquisite man in Paris will assuredly manage!"
After several more moments of praising himself, Montparnasse advanced on his journey towards his apartment. Considerably bloated with arrogance, he decided to travel through populated areas to display his stunning radiance. He supposed that all of the pathetic and cowardly creatures he passed were groveling at his feet, when in reality only a few adolescent young ladies cast a second glance. As the bright spring sunbeams illumined his path, his mind had commenced strategizing a battle plan. The mansion of that night's burglary job would indubitably hold the answer to obtaining stylish female garb. One of the most prominent women in Paris resided there, deeming the selection of gowns limitless. With his fashion expertise, designating the perfect dress for Eponine would be child's play. "I already know her measurements. Zero-zero-zero!" A chuckle at his own joke was emitted. With the sun granting his face a healthy reddish color, he imagined with ecstasy the attire he would adorn her with. "I shall replace her hessian cloth with silk, her…" At that moment a thought occurred to him. Eponine had most likely returned to his apartment and was lounging around with nothing better to do than collect dust. "Shall I tell the little wretch or surprise her when I have obtained the garments?" he asked himself. After walking a few more steps, he arrived at a decision. "Surprising is always a more amusing method. It's like an ambush, really."
Without any apprehensions in his heart, the dandy continued his stride towards his abode. Did this method he had composed hold any possible trace of altruism? He supposed not. In his eyes, transforming Eponine into a decent-looking creature was solely for his benefit. If Eponine gained something, so be it, but she was not his concern. He could care less about her reputation. This egotistic young dandy was only interested in one person – himself. Or so he kept insisting to the peculiar shade of a voice he sporadically perceived.
