When the bullet passed through Éponine's hand into her body, it was Grantaire who died first.
He stood, rooted to the spot, staring at his fallen friend. She was collapsed on the ground, but her sharp shoulders still rose and fell laboriously. She was breathing… He was not.
Grantaire took one, staggering step towards her. Then, he stopped.
He wanted nothing more than to run to Éponine and gather her up in his arms. He wanted to gaze upon the life in her eyes for the last few minutes that it would remain. He wanted to tell her everything about how much she meant to him, before his words would fall on deaf ears.
But that wasn't what she wanted. That wasn't why she was here.
With an excruciating effort, Grantaire tore his eyes away from Éponine and looked around.
There. There was Pontmercy.
Marius was helping Courfeyrac repair some of the damage to the barricade when he heard someone speak his name.
"Pontmercy."
The tone of the voice sent a chill down Marius's spine. He looked around and saw that it was Grantaire who had spoken. The man looked like death.
"Grantaire," Marius acknowledged, holding back a shudder. "How may I be of service?"
"Éponine," Grantaire rasped. A convulsive twitch of his hand indicated a slumped figure on the ground, some feet away.
Looking, Marius paled. He didn't know that the recent gunshot had reached a target. Was that the bullet intended for him? Buried inside the body of the Jondrette girl?
Marius's thoughts were interrupted by Grantaire seizing his arm and gripping it fiercely. "Please," he urged, his eyes flaming with anguish. "Go to her. She wants you."
Éponine's blood-drained face creased into a smile as Marius's lips approached her brow in obedience to her dying wish. She gazed up at him, thinking happily to herself that her plan had worked. Here she was, dying a romantic death in the arms of the man she loved. The last of her breath would be used to breathe sweet words to him. The last sight her eyes would see would be his sweet face… It couldn't be more perfect…
It was perfect…
It…
Something dreadful twisted in her chest. It was not the pain of the bullet wound (she was so far gone now that she could scarcely feel that). Rather, it was the sudden understanding that she had made a terrible mistake.
Her body seized in a paroxysm and a ragged breath shuddered through her failing lungs. She struggled to push herself up onto her elbows. Her spindly arms trembled under her own weight, but summoning the last vestiges of her strength, she held herself up and looked about desperately.
'Taire… Oh God, where was 'Taire?
Her arms gave out.
She expired.