"Mademoiselle Éponine...what...who...I didn't know...where did you go?" his tongue was a mess. She chuckled. He was the one blushing now. She took a seat without asking, something she had been taught not to do but had completely and deliberately ignored.

"Monsieur Enjolras, with all due respect, I asked you a question first. I would like to have an answer before moving on," she replied, playing with her hands on her lap.

"They taught you rhetorics," he mumbled to himself.

"Speaking correctly is an art on itself, Monsieur, and it still troubles me at times," she said smiling.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle -" he said but was suddenly interrupted.

"Just call me Éponine, Monsieur. It's not like we don't know each other. I'm still the girl who sat at the staircase," she reminded him, shifting to a more comfortable position on her chair.

You're definitely not that girl anymore, he thought. And, in fact, Éponine had truly changed. Her olive skin, once darkened by grime and bruises, was now cleaner and healed. Her dark brown hair, always tangled, wild and dirty, was now combed in an intricate braid. The rags he remembered her wearing were now changed to a simple, long sleeved gray dress that accentuated her shape, which, although not much, seemed a bit healthier. Her intellect too had improved. However had taught her, didn't stick to teach her the obvious, but somehow managed to legate her a level of understanding that surprised him, particularly with the content of the readings she brought to him.

"Let's make a deal...Éponine," he offered.

"What deal, monsieur?" she asked.

"Just Enjolras," he corrected, "And the deal is simple: I'll tell you what you want to know if you answer my questions."

"Fine...Enjolras. But you're starting," she said, moving closer to him and offering her papers with a warm smile. Much to his astonishment, he found himself wordless. He couldn't repress a sigh, wondering what happened to his power of oratory as she took a seat just by his side.

"Is everything alright?" she asked while moving her chair a little as not to make him feel uncomfortable. Enjolras chuckled a little as he saw Olympe de Gouges' declaration of women's rights, thinking that, if she was interested in that particular fight, she would go through a rockier path than him with his revolution.

"This," he said as he brandished the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, "was written in 1789, if I'm not wrong, of course. It was and still is a fundamental pillar of the french revolution, a revolution that's not over yet. That's why I can't stop thinking about our own uprising, the final one, the restoration of the république."

Enjolras continued his rant, heating up every time he got into a particularly interesting point. He was very pleased to see that Éponine was an attentive listener that seemed interested in what he was saying, trying to follow his words as quickly as they left his mouth and asking questions whenever something was too hard for her to understand.

"I might have learned a couple of things, but I'm still ignorant in many others," she said apologetically as she took her declarations and clutched them back again in her chest.

"It's fine," he answered, "I must say I'm very proud to know that you learned and want to continue learning. If you want, I can continue teaching you some other things about our revolution. You can come to our meetings if you wish."

After Éponine nodding enthusiastically in response, the revolution topic was concluded for the night. There was an uncomfortable silence then. Enjolras eyed Éponine, his face resting on his left hand. She then smiled.

"Oui, now's my part of the deal." Enjolras nodded in response.

"Around this time last year, I didn't take home the amount of coins my father demanded. That same week, I had failed to bring money at least too times so I was terrified. I knew he was going to beat me. And he was going to beat me hard," she said gravely.

Although Enjolras wasn't visibly disturbed, he was deeply moved and concerned. He couldn't believe that, while he had been preaching about equality, he had underrated her, not even considering the amount of suffering she had been living. He had overlooked her and ignored her, calling her "Marius' shadow" in such a patronizing way that seemed so different from his character. He couldn't help but feel sorry, even if he knew it was a worthless feeling.

"I ran away," she continued smiling softly at him as to light up the mood, "and, as you can imagine, I had nowhere to go. That night, I slept under a bridge, not a new experience for me but still it was not the best night of my life. I spent the next day laying groggily where I slept, contemplating what I could do with my life. All of a sudden, a woman ran towards the bridge muttering curses under her breath. I realized then that it was raining.

"Madame Marguerite was an old childless widow who worked from dawn to dusk as a seamstress at a factory. She took me in without asking many questions and helped me get a job at the factory. We shared her small apartment for about a two months, in which I learned how to sew, stitch and embroider for a living. Then, the landlord told us he couldn't permit two women sleeping for the price of one and, since I only worked part-time and my wage was too low to afford staying, I was once again on the street. This time, at least, I had the certainty that I had a job."

"That's when I found them," she said affectionately, completely forgetting that she was actually telling a story.

"You found whom?" he asked curiously.

"The people that educated me."

"Who are they?"

"Enjolras, I really can't tell you everything," she said painfully, wanting to spill her secret to him. For some reason, she was really happy of making him proud. She didn't know why, but when, after many months of reading romance novels and poems, she was given philosophy books, she instantly thought about Les Amis de l'ABC. When she learned how to debate and she was taught history, she had them in her mind. When she was finally given the declarations and still many things sounded too strange for her, she decided it was time to pay them a visit. And, much to her relief, it was Enjolras and not Marius the one she longed to see.

He sighed. "Are you serious, Éponine?"

She offered him the best of her smiles. "Let's make another deal," she proposed.

"Give me permission to ask you two questions and then we can make as many deals as you want," he said with a mixture of desperation and hope.

"Shoot," she answered.

"Do you live with them?"

"I do. And since I know you're wondering whether to spend your next question on asking me where, I'll tell you right away that, although I'm not wearing rags anymore, I'm not living in the best part of town either."

The next question left his lips without him having any control over it. "What do you feel for Pontmercy now?"

After a deadly silence, it was Éponine's turn to sigh. She saw him straight in the eye, not even trying to pretend she didn't know what he meant. Of course she knew. "Last year I was a different person, a submissive girl who fell in love with the first man that treated her kindly. As I started learning, my readings would consist of love stories that I would use as base to create different lives with Monsieur Marius. But one day I read the story of Orpheus and Eurydice and realized that Monsieur Marius wouldn't die for me, that actually nobody I knew would die for me. I guess that was the end of my affections. It really hurt me to realize this but, once I did, I was truly free."

He casted a small smile at her. She stood up, realizing it was probably too late. He also stood up, offering to accompany her back home.

"Don't be silly, Enjolras, I can handle it. I might not live in a wealthy street but people are very humble and I haven't been robbed once in the time I've been there," she told him as she walked towards the stairs. He followed close behind. Once they were at the door of Le Cafe Musain, accompanied by a bunch of empty, stacked chairs and the sound of sweeping, Enjolras took her hand, wanting to kiss it but not finding the courage to do so.

She blushed and said goodbye, promising to go back the next day. Soon, they went on different ways. Éponine to the south, to the section of the city colonized by cracked buildings and complicated alleys, that section of the higher lowest class, the working class he wished to save. Enjolras, to the north, the section of the rich.

And in the back of his mind, one of Éponine's comments stick to him and he unconsciously replied.

I would definitely die for you, my dear Patria.

Thanks for the nice and encouraging comments :-) I've been taking too long because I was trying to make this good enough. What do you think?

-Seahorse vS