All of the rebels who died were buried. Joly, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Fueilly, Lesgles and Bahorel were given proper headstones. Eponine, dressed all in black, laid flowers on each of the graves. Joly was buried with his cane at his side and his whistle around his neck. Eponine stared a while at Joly's gravestone. It read
"Joly Dubois
The Medic
Three and twenty years
Long live the Republic"
Eponine cried and was lead away by Jehan.
Ten years later:
Eponine sat in her sitting room, staring aimlessly out the window. The winter had brought mounds of snow. Her six children, Joly, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Lesgles, Feuilly and Bahorel were on the floor quietly reading. Jehan came into the room in his usual fine attire. He sat down and took Eponine in his arms. He kissed her and rubbed her expanding girth.
"What are you thinking of, darling?" Jehan whispered.
"Joly. Again." Eponine admitted, guiltily. "You must think that I pay more attention to my deceased brother than you." Today Joly would have been three and thirty years.
"Nonsense. Grieve, my dear. I am too. I am, too." Jehan felt a tear hit his arm.
"I will never forget him. Or the others."
June 1842
Eponine and Jehan, along with their children, Enjolras, Grantaire and Marius went to the graves of the fallen. Eponine laid down a bundle of flowers on each of the graves. She made a special stop at Joly's. She placed a larger bundle on top, put a hand on the top and whispered, "I'll never forget. I'll never forget the light that you brought to me." With tears falling down her cheeks, she repeated, "The light in you and me. Never forget." With that, Eponine took Jehan's hand as they walked into the new world, the new dawn, because in the end, the darkest night ended and the sun rose.
