Hi again! Thanks so much to the new people who are following this story, and annevalerie, thanks so much for your reviews! I wish you had an account so I could respond more thoroughly. Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter, too. As always; reviews are welcome. :)

Chapter 5:

When she awoke the next morning, Annette found herself still in the little room above the café, still in 1832, in the world of Les Misérables. So it was the next day, too, and the day after that. A week went by – Annette spent most of her time in the café. In the mornings, when few people were there, (though there was usually somebody around), she sometimes went out exploring, trying to familiarize herself with her new-and-old Paris. Sometimes, she did this on her own – other times Gavroche or Eponine came with her. These two didn't spend all of their time with Annette; sometimes they left, together or separately, and Annette didn't know what they did then, but every night they came back together. If not before bedtime, they always came back, the three of them, to sleep on the spread out blankets in the room upstairs.

As the afternoons wore on and turned to evening and most of the revolutionaries gathered back at the café, Annette met them there. She tried her best to talk to everyone, to get to know them. At first, many of the students didn't quite know what to say to her. Some seemed curious, others shy, oddly deferential. Though sometimes frustrated, Annette wasn't offended. She wasn't sure what she would have done had a visitor from another era popped into her life in 1949, after all. And, though there were often women coming in and out of the café, the young men were probably not used to a girl actively taking part in their meetings, acting and dressing like one of them. Still, Enjolras frequently encouraged her participation in their discussions, and Marius always asked how she was doing. She particularly liked talking to Grantaire – liked his dark sense of humor, his ironic smiles. Sometimes, he stayed later at the café, after the others had already gone home, and they would talk together. And, as time passed, the other students began to warm to her, too.

The day after Annette had arrived, in the evening, she'd seen Gavroche speaking quietly to Enjolras in a corner of the café. Annette had been sitting a little ways' away, talking with Eponine. She hadn't heard exactly what was said, but the way they kept glancing over at her, Enjolras's gaze growing ever more troubled and pensive as the minutes wore on, made it clear to Annette that Gavroche was relaying her story. Well, that wasn't a problem, Annette decided. It wasn't a secret, after all, and, come to that, Annette was glad not to have to repeat it again herself. She wondered if Enjolras had questions, or if he would tell his comrades, but he hadn't mentioned it to her afterwards – nor had anyone else.

This almost calm rhythm lasted for about two weeks after Annette had arrived, until one night, when the café was awash in excitement. The atmosphere there was usually lively enough, but on this night, the young men were not only discussing plans and tactics – things were evidently coming to a head. People were arriving from all parts, making their reports to Enjolras, shouting over each other. Their leader was standing in the middle of the room, somehow managing to acknowledge each new contribution with a nod. Annette, from her seat near the stairs, was simply trying to keep up.

"At Notre Dame, the sections are prepared!"

"At rue du Bac they're straining at the leash!"

Amidst all the chaos, Eponine slipped quietly through the door and, as if completely unnoticed by the others, came to sit by Annette. She was more than tense, agitated, her lips pursed in a tight line. Annette turned toward her, concerned. "Are you all right?"

Eponine began nodding, but quickly shook her head. "Can I … talk with you about something?"

In the center of the room, Enjolras had begun speaking; Annette would have liked to stay and listen. Still, she started to rise to her feet. Eponine, however, pressed a hand on her shoulder. "Later is okay," she murmured. So, Annette nodded and sat back down. She turned back to face the door now.

Marius had just entered. His face was all white. In a way, he looked as upset as Eponine, but while the girl's eyes had been dull and downcast, Marius's were shining with excitement, that and the same passion Annette remembered from the park, the very first day she'd arrived. Even before Joly asked him what was wrong, why he looked like he'd "seen a ghost," and Marius started to explain, Annette already understood what was "going on."

She glanced back towards Eponine, who, at Marius's words, looked crestfallen. Annette frowned sympathetically, extending a hand in support. At that moment, however, Grantaire began to speak, cracking a rather good joke about opera that got everyone's applause.

From then on, Annette by turns watched what was going on with the others, by turns looked back at Eponine. Even as Enjolras, in the middle of the room, began to chastise Marius for his unthinking haste, Eponine, in an undertone, started to fill Annette in on what had happened.

"I was with my parents – Marius had come by, and in the street he met ... this girl. They met eyes; apparently she smiled at him. He told me he'd seen her in a park and anyway he's gone crazy about her. Her father … he was with her, … my father recognized him … and do you know who she is? Cosette! The girl I was telling you about, the one who lived with us so long ago…!"

Annette nodded, listening even as her back was turned to Eponine. She watched as Marius argued with his friends, defending the validity of his feelings, and his friends, in turn, reminded him of their ideals.

"What's all that about, anyway?" Eponine suddenly asked, still in barely more than a whisper, though her tone was defensive. "Why's he not supposed to fall in love?"

"Because he's supposed to be devoted to the cause, I guess," Annette murmured back, turning to face her friend as she did so.

"But if he's supposed to love the people … is there really something wrong with him loving one person… one of the people, just a little bit more?"

"Fair question. You should ask Enjolras."

Eponine bit her lip at the suggestion; Annette gave her an encouraging smile, but shrugged as well.

By now, however, the young men had finished discussing Marius's feelings. Enjolras was asking for – and they had now returned to giving – their reports, describing the state of their armaments, so Annette turned around, paying full attention to what was going on. Barely had she done so, however, when Gavroche burst through the door. "Listen!" he cried, "General Lamarque is dead!"

Who? Annette asked herself, even as all the young men, even Enjolras, were staring, stupefied, at the small boy by the door. Quickly, she glanced back towards Eponine. Was this someone she was supposed to know?

Almost instantaneously, however, everyone was on his feet – Enjolras first: he was crying out stirring and striking words, about how Lamarque was "the people's man," how this was a sign, how it was now the time to act. All around him, people were jumping up, grabbing caps and the occasional coat, following him through the door and out into the street.

Behind them, Annette also sprang to her feet. Despite her earlier incomprehension, the significance of the moment was now clear to her. "I have to go with them!" she called to Eponine, who was staring at her now, alarmed. "I have to talk to Enjolras. I'll catch you back here later?"

Barely waiting for Eponine to nod, Annette also grabbed her cap and ran out.

Outside, in the square by the café, the students were shouting inspiring words – slogans. Doors and windows around them were opening, people were looking out, some coming out into the street to join them, others staring from above. Whether they were moved or simply interested, Annette did not know. The young men didn't stay there for long, however; a minute or two later they were off down the street, and Annette with them. Everyone was walking quickly, almost running, some passing out leaflets as they went. Soon, the shouting changed to singing. It wasn't the "Internationale," but in its strident beat, its rousing words, it almost sounded like it. She wondered if they had written it themselves.

Focused as she was on keeping up, on keeping an eye on where Enjolras was in the growing crowd, Annette listened with only half an ear. Still, by the end of a couple of verses, she had learned the chorus. Ducking and weaving through the crowd, she joined in as the group finished.

"When the beating of your heart, echoes the beating of the drums

There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!"

Perhaps appropriately, Annette's heart was pounding with a strange mixture of trepidation and pride; their enthusiasm and fervor was infectious.

Soon enough, the spontaneous rally broke up. People began leaving – returning to their homes. The revolutionaries headed in different directions. Annette followed the group's leader as he split off from the others and went off alone, struggling her way through the crowd for a moment, towards a narrow alleyway. He'd gotten a head start; Annette couldn't keep up with his quick footsteps. "Enjolras!" She finally called. "I need to talk to you!"

The young man turned around and began walking back towards her. They met in the middle, by a tall, stone, building, grey in the darkness, though there was a street lamp not far away. In the light, Annette could see that his face was flushed; his eyes were lit up, impassioned, as if on fire. For her part, Annette was panting. Enjolras waited for her to catch her breath, his own expression gradually calming, though his eyes lost none of their intensity.

Finally, Annette repeated, softer now, "I need to talk to you."

"You don't think we can win." Despite his expression, his voice was quiet, his tone simply matter-of-fact.

"I know you can't. Not now, and not this way." He was looking skeptical, so Annette added, "I've read it. If you try now, your revolution will fail. Everyone – almost everyone – will die. Nobody will even remember what you were trying to do."

"But you've read about it? How can you have read about it, if nobody remembers?" Enjolras was frowning.

Annette bit her lip. This was a question she hadn't expected. Yet, it made sense that he would ask. Still, Enjolras couldn't be told that his ill-fated movement had been immortalized in Victor Hugo's classic novel some fifty years later. He'd see it as a posthumous victory of sorts – and plunge straight ahead.

"Somebody wrote something down, you said."

"Well, sure. People are always writing something down: newspaper articles, police reports… I got to read them because … I'm interested in revolutions."

I'm interested in revolutions? Really? That was the best explanation Annette could come up with? Still, Enjolras nodded. If anyone would believe that, she supposed he would …

"Some people remembered because it was a historical event. But, nobody understood! Not what it was supposed to mean! Nobody understood why you would choose to fight, why you'd go to your deaths … nobody remembers who Lamarque was or anything like that. We never heard his name in school – or yours. Listen, I wish you could win. I do believe in your cause, but now is not …"

"The time is now, though! You saw it, just a few minutes ago, all the people out in the streets! The people are ready to take their fates – their own deliverance – in their own hands! Sauvons-nous de nos propres mains! They are ready to throw off centuries of oppression and inequity! They need us to lead them. If they are ready to rise, and we're not in the vanguard, where should we be?"

"They came out to hear your speeches, but they won't be with you when you take up arms, not when it counts! Yes, you have to lead them, but you have to show them the way! You need long work – years – to build up a movement. You can't just make a go of it on your own, like a bunch of anarchists!"

Enjolras scowled. Strangely, his anger made him look younger. "People who don't agree with us always call those on the Left anarchists," he spat.

"If you don't want to be called an anarchist, don't act like one! Listen, you have to know when to strike! Look, … can I tell you a story from the war I lived through as a child?"

"Go on." He still looked angry, but his tone was again measured.

"Well, in the southwest, not far from where I was staying with a family, there was a man who, from the first, decided he had to do something – to fight back against the Forces of Occupation. He took to the forests, years before anyone else had the same idea. People called him 'le fou qui vit dans les bois.' But, people came to join him, and by the summer of 1944 he'd built up a whole army. He had over a thousand men at his command. They called him 'Le Grand.' Can you imagine it, a thousand men?"

Enjolras's eyes had lit up again – clearly, he could imagine this.

Annette pressed on. "Anyway, people wanted him to make an insurrection in the town of Limoges. To liberate it from the Germans. This was in June 1944, something like that. But he said, 'no. It's too risky now.' There had been another insurrection in a town not far away called Tulle, which had failed. It had been so violently repressed like you don't even want to know … people hanged from all of the lampposts, that kind of thing. There'd been reprisals against the population, too. In a little town called Oradour-sur-Glane, the Germans shot all of the men, then locked all of the women and children in the town's church before setting it on fire – burned them all to death! Over six hundred people died then, all told, and … none of them, nobody in the town even had anything to do with the insurrection in Tulle. They just happened to be nearby! Anyhow, Guingouin, the commander I told you about, he didn't want such a thing to happen to his men or to the people of Limoges. So, he said, 'No, I'm not going to make an insurrection now, I'm going to wait.' And then, three months later, in August, with the Americans hot on the Germans' heels, he managed to force the garrison in Limoges to surrender without one shot fired, without anyone killed at all! He had a thousand men, but he still knew to wait for the right time."

"But if the right time for Paris is now?" Enjolras asked Annette.

"Guingouin had a thousand men and he didn't want to risk a failed uprising in Limoges! You think you and your thirty, if that, can take Paris?"

"The people will rise. They have to. We can't turn back now. We'll have our thousand! We'll have far more!"

Had he been listening at all? Annette sighed. "I just told you that you won't! You can't! Not now, not like this. Believe me, I wish you could win!"

"I think we will. We know we're in the right. You saw tonight, things are falling into line! I understand your concern and appreciate it, but … you'll see. The tide of history is with us. The barricades will rise – tomorrow will come!" The look in his eyes was more than intense now; it was desperate. It seemed that convincing her was just as important to Enjolras as convincing him was to Annette. She couldn't imagine why, though – why was he being so stubborn?

"And the future will just take care of itself?" Annette couldn't help rolling her own eyes.

Enjolras's expression darkened. "The revolution has already begun. Join us – or not – do what you want. But it has begun and we have to see it through. Maybe this time it'll be different. If you're worried … and if you are with us, maybe you can show us how to do it right this time."

For god's sake, didn't he realize that this was exactly what she was trying to do? "I see it's no use talking to you," Annette retorted.

"I do appreciate your concern. If you're with us, we're happy to have you. If not … I can't tell you what to do. I should be going now. You can find your way back to the café, then?"

He surely didn't mean to sound patronizing with that last bit, but in her current mood, Annette couldn't take it any other way. "I'll be fine," she insisted. Enjolras gave her an ironic smile, a smirk, really, then he turned and left.

As they hadn't gone far, Annette retraced her steps easily. A few minutes later, she let herself back in through the closed door of the café. Downstairs, it was dark and empty. Gavroche hadn't come back yet, but Eponine was waiting upstairs for her, lying back against one of the big pillows. Annette flung herself down besides her, and Eponine – despite her own preoccupations – one glance at her face told Annette that she'd been crying – Eponine looked over at her with concern. "Where've you been?" she asked after a moment.

"Out. Talking with Comrade Vladimir Lenin there." She jerked her thumb in the direction of the street, though she knew Enjolras couldn't be anywhere near by this point.

"Who?" Eponine pulled herself up to a sitting position.

"Our fearless leader. Enjolras, of course."

"What did you just call him? Comrade …?"

"Vladimir Lenin. A revolutionary – between my time and yours. An ideological hardliner, which I suppose is what I meant when I called him that. Also a shrewd political strategist who knew how to win, something Enjolras could use to learn."

"I see," Eponine told her, though clearly she didn't. "I keep forgetting you're from the future." Then, "but, anyway, you're in a mood tonight."

"Sorry." Annette took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm herself. After a moment, she added, "You wanted to talk to me? Sorry I made you wait."

"It's not a problem." Eponine's voice was soft again, hesitant. Annette waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, resting a hand on Annette's shoulder instead, Annette decided to prompt her.

"It's about Marius, isn't it?"

Eponine nodded, and just as suddenly burst into tears. Annette quickly sat up, wrapping her arms around her friend. For a few seconds, Annette simply rocked her, stroking her hair as she sobbed, but finally, she spoke again.

"And you're in love with him yourself."

At this, Eponine abruptly drew back, her expression horrified. "Is it obvious?"

Annette frowned. Would she have known, if she hadn't read the novel? She'd never thought of herself as a particularly perceptive person. Still, Eponine's feelings were clear if you knew what to look for, and yet probably nobody in Eponine's world had bothered to do just that, least of all the object of her affections. This was the answer Annette gave her: "It isn't to Marius. You've loved him for a long time?"

Eponine heaved a sigh. "Ever since we met, probably. He never saw it, though … and now he's gone and fallen in love with Cosette, that girl I told you about. This is probably my punishment for being mean to her so many years ago, isn't it?"

Annette shook her head quickly. "Don't think like that, Eponine. Sometimes, boys are stupid. Often, life's not fair. But, it's not about you."

"He wants me to help him find out where she lives."

"Are you going to?"

"As it turns out I know. I have to tell him, don't I?"

"You're a good friend."

Eponine smiled ruefully now. "Aren't I?"

"Say," Annette began a few seconds later, a new idea slowly taking form in her mind. "Why do you love Marius so much? What's so great about him?"

Eponine, who had glanced down, studying her feet, looked back up towards Annette. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he's good looking, sure, and reasonably nice, but not any more so than some of his friends. You know them now; you've been spending evenings in the café with us. Marius isn't better looking or more charismatic than … Enjolras, say…"

"Marius has nicer hair," Eponine responded slowly. "But, honestly, Annette, love doesn't work that way. You can't ask me why I'm in love with him. I just am, and there isn't anything I can do about it. Haven't you ever been in love?"

Annette frowned, shaking her head at the same time, almost sheepish. Eponine had made a good point. Maybe Annette didn't know anything about how love worked. Still, she was rather taken with her new idea. Did Enjolras know himself so well, to worry that a woman's love would turn him from his single-minded devotion to his cause? Probably not. All the same, Enjolras might be quite interested in Eponine, and perhaps this would give him just enough pause to reconsider his suicidal timing and tactics. Maybe it wouldn't be real love, not at first, but he would appreciate the symbolic gesture of lifting a poor girl out of a life of misery. And Eponine, if this worked out – Eponine would finally be happy. At worse, Annette would be fostering false hopes in Eponine, but the girl had been living on false hope for some time now. Was there really anything to lose?

Annette almost laughed out loud at her train of thought. Since when did she know anything about matchmaking? All the same.., Well, here goes…

"Still, Eponine, what about Enjolras? He's nice-looking, isn't he? It's exciting when he gives speeches; he's got the soul of a poet, and he cares so much about poor people … about people less fortunate than him…"

"He also thinks that love is an unnecessary distraction."

"So he says now. Really, though, can any man truly resist the charms of a beautiful and determined woman?" Annette gave Eponine what she hoped was a convincingly wicked grin, and Eponine, despite her dark mood, actually giggled.

"It's not working with Marius, though," Eponine pointed out a moment later.

Annette was undeterred. "Eponine," she insisted, "just think of what it would be like if all of that passion Enjolras shows for his country, think of what it would be like to have all that showered on you, instead."

However Annette might have expected Eponine to respond, it was not as she did. The other girl fell silent; her eyes widened suddenly – she almost gasped. At first, Annette thought she had gotten through to her. Her fist began to clench in an unconscious gesture of triumph. At that moment, however, Eponine spoke up, and Annette realized she had completely misunderstood the other girl's reaction.

"I had no idea." Eponine more breathed these words than spoke them. "You could have just told me that you did understand exactly how I feel."

"Excuse me, wait, what?"

"In a way, I'm sorry that you understand, because loving someone who can't love you back is the worst feeling in the world. At the same time, I'm glad I'm not alone in this. Still, I'd never take Enjolras from you even if I could."

"Eponine, that's not what I meant, I …"

At this, however, the other girl abruptly stood up, gathering her light, wool shawl around herself. "Annette, do you mind if I go out for a bit? I just remembered there was something I needed to do. I'll be back later."

Annette nodded weakly. She couldn't imagine what Eponine would need to do at this hour of the night, but could well understand if the girl wanted to be alone with her thoughts for a bit. Still flabbergasted, her mind reeling, trying to catch up with what had just happened, she watched her friend as she headed down the stairs. There was a muffled "bonsoir" to whomever had come back to sit in the café. The door below then opened, then slammed shut.

For a moment, Annette stayed where she was upstairs, leaning back against her own pillow and running a hand absentmindedly through her hair. All her plans had been just so especially successful tonight, hadn't they? She let out a groan. It turned out trying to change this story's ending was going to be more difficult than she'd thought.

A few seconds later, Annette stood up. Who was it who'd come back downstairs, anyway? She might as well head down to join them. Hopefully, somebody would be in the mood for idle chatter; it might take her mind off of the situation at hand.

She made her way to the stairs and looked down. It was Grantaire, alone; he was sitting in his customary seat. When he saw Annette he waved. She came down to sit by him.

"What a night!" he exclaimed.

"Tell me about it." Annette's tone was sarcastic.

"Romeo's found his Juliet and the rest of us are about to start a war, what more could you ask for?" His tone matched hers. Then, "something to drink?"

"Would be great." Annette hoped she wasn't developing bad habits.

"Wine? Or…"

"I don't suppose you have rum and coke around?"

Grantaire chuckled, getting the general idea if not exactly what she was asking for. "I do have brandy if you're looking for something stronger."

"Okay."

So, Grantaire pulled out a bottle and, finding a small cup on one of the shelves, poured a little bit into it and handed it to Annette.

"Do I drink it straight?"

"Bottoms up!"

Annette glanced at the glass with a moment's trepidation, before picking it up and draining it in one gulp. Almost instantly, she began coughing hard – it burned inside her mouth! Grantaire began laughing at her, and once she'd stopped coughing she began laughing, too.

"I think I'll stick to mixed drinks," Annette finally announced.

"We didn't toast."

"I'll get some water and we can toast."

There was some in a small pitcher on the other side of the table, so Annette refilled her glass from it. Grantaire poured himself some wine. They raised their glasses to each other.

"Vive la révolution, huh?"

"Vive la révolution." They met eyes, mock-serious, then Annette sighed. "He can't win if he starts now. Enjolras, I mean."

Grantaire nodded. "Have you told him?"

"I just told him so, outside, not an hour ago."

"Explicitly, I mean? You've been hinting as much since you got here, but he's not very good at subtle."

"He got the hints. He didn't believe me, though. I tried to explain there's a difference between a good cause and … good timing. But he's …"

"A true believer."

"Something like that. It just has to be now." Annette sighed again. "In other news, Eponine thinks I'm in love with Enjolras. Which I'm not …, in case that wasn't obvious or something."

Grantaire nodded slowly at this, then looked at Annette for a long moment, studying her. The girl bit her lip. She'd expected Grantaire to laugh at what she'd said, to tease her, maybe. To say something sarcastic about how ridiculous all of this was. But instead, he looked uncharacteristically pensive. "You know," he finally said, "I think if he did ever go for someone, it might be someone like you."

"What?" Annette nearly spat out her water. "No kidding, really? That's not even funny."

"I didn't mean it to be."

"How would you know a thing like that?" Annette stared at Grantaire, wide-eyed and horrified. Still, plain in his oddly vulnerable and unguarded gaze was a truth that she had never expected to see.

"You're in love with him yourself. Good Lord. I … didn't know you swung that way."

Grantaire managed a sheepish grin. "I don't exactly go shouting it from the rooftops or anything."

"Still, wow."

For another long moment, the two of them simply looked at each other, neither knowing what to say. Annette took a few deep breaths; Grantaire finished his glass. Finally, the young man asked her, "What's this all about for you, anyway? You want us to win and you think you know how we can?"

Annette shook her head quickly. "I don't know how. I just know this isn't how. I don't want people to die needlessly, not when they could … have great things ahead for them, … great accomplishments in store. You're all so young."

"Still, why do we matter so much to you? Much as I appreciate the concern … there's something more to it, isn't there? Something terrible happened in your time that you want to prevent. Am I wrong?"

"Well…" Annette began slowly, looking down at her empty glass. "I was too young to join the Resistance."

Grantaire nodded as if he understood, and maybe, once again, he had gotten the essential point.

Was this why she cared so much? The one cause didn't have much to do with the other. Even if Enjolras and his comrades did manage to win now, or if not now, in 1848 or 1871, they'd all be long gone by 1940, and there was no telling that any state they'd manage to found now would be able to hold out then. Still, was this, for Annette, at heart, about – by proxy – joining the fight she'd missed long ago … in the future?

"What about you, though? You don't believe he'll win, either. Why are you here? Is it because of the way you feel about him?"

Annette bit her lip waiting for his response, nervous that she'd gone to far. But Grantaire, after a moment's thoughtful silence and with a rueful smile, answered her question.

"I suppose that's part of it. I admire him. I, too, wish he could win. Wish the world worked like that. I don't believe it's possible, though … just like … well, anything between us wouldn't be possible. Still, I'm with him all the way, and if that means, in the end, nothing more than dying side by side … that's that … so be it."

Annette frowned. She was moved, but also somewhat troubled. It all seemed so drastic! Welcome to the 19th century, where people really are so miserable in love that they go off to war to end their own unbearable existence. Still, I don't know about Hugo, but Tolstoy for sure never wrote it like this!

At length, Annette sighed, shaking her head. "The world's gone insane."

French terms in this chapter:

Sauvons-nous de nos propres mains! = By our own hands shall we be saved

le fou qui vit dans les bois = the crazy man who lives in the woods

Le Grand = the Great

Vive la révolution = long live the revolution

The story that Annette tells Enjolras about the Resistance is true. Look up Georges Guingouin on Wikipedia if you want more information (available in English or in French), or, even better, if you read French, read Michel Taubmann's "L'affaire Guingouin, la véritable histoire du premier maquisard de France."