Lamarque fell ill with cholera. When Enjolras heard the news, he knew he needed to put more effort into his preparations. Time was of the essence now. When the people's man died, the time for revolution would be upon Paris. But how would he rally the people on time? Could he stir them to fight at the barricades? Was he even getting anywhere with gathering their support?

He started to be hampered by self-doubt. He rarely gave speeches anymore. What was the point if the people wouldn't follow him?

Éponine marched into the Musain one day. Enjolras was at his usual table studying a map of Paris. He looked up at Éponine's arrival. "Bonjour, 'Ponine. What brings you here?"

Éponine slammed her fist onto the table, causing Enjolras to jump. "What brings me here? A better question would be 'Why is Superboy shirking his rallies in front of General Lamarque's house?' You're supposed to be the one to stir the blood in the people's veins! If you don't, who will?"

"What am I accomplishing?" Enjolras exclaimed. "They don't listen to my message, they only care about my pretty face! Can I trust them to take their place with me on the barricade when the time comes? No!"

"I've heard your speeches," Éponine said. "It's the same thing every time. You tell them what they already know: that they are oppressed, struggling to live from day to day, and that they want change. But do you actually know their plight? Are you acquainted with life in the slums? Anyone who looks at you in your expensive bourgeoisie clothing knows the answer is no. Your voice is charged with passion, but what you lack is empathy. The only way you can get that is to witness what the poor experience for yourself."

Enjolras looked at her intently. "Are you saying—-?"

"Enjy, you and I are going to have a day out." Éponine grabbed his hand, made him stand up, and pulled him out the door. He wasn't sure where she was leading him, but he didn't have much choice but to keep pace with her. Finally, they stopped at a part of the city Enjolras had never been to before. Beggars dressed in tatters sat on street corners, harlots and drunkards lurked in alleyways, and the air reeked with the stench of human waste.

"Welcome to Saint Michel," Éponine spread her arms as if to encompass the surrounding area. "This is where you encounter true poverty."

Enjolras tried not to gape, but it was nearly impossible. Éponine's description of "true poverty" was an apt one. Enjolras had never seen such squalor.

"Keep your eyes out for pickpockets," Éponine advised. "They're more prevalent here than in the streets you walk in your shiny, polished black shoes."

Enjolras felt so many emotions all at once: shock, grief, anger. Shock at the conditions these people lived in. Grief that they had no choice but to live like this. Anger at the higher-ups who would do nothing about it.

"Take a good look around you, Superboy," Éponine's voice broke through his musings. "Take note. This is normalcy for most people like me."

Enjolras looked Éponine in the eyes. For once, the great orator was speechless.

"Before we go, there's someone I want you to meet," she told him.

Enjolras did not want to get any closer to this desolation. But Éponine led him to a street corner where a frail old woman was sitting, wrapped in a musty old blanket. She stared blankly ahead, her hands held out cupped in front of her.

"Mathilde!" Éponine called. The woman turned clouded-over eyes in Éponine's direction, and Enjolras realized she was blind. "It's Éponine."

Mathilde reached out. Éponine placed her hand in the older woman's. "Éponine!" Mathilde's smile lit up her whole face. "I'm so glad you came by!"

"I have a friend here who wants to give you something," Éponine said. She turned to Enjolras expectantly.

Enjolras realized Éponine wanted him to give alms to Mathilde. He took a ten-franc piece out of his wallet and put it in the beggar woman's hand. "Ten francs for you, madame."

"Bless you, my boy," Mathilde thanked him, grasping his hand a little longer than necessary. "And bless these generous hands. This is more than I've received in a long time."

"I'll never forget you, madame," Enjolras said. And he meant it. Mathilde was one of those whom life had dropped at the bottom of the heap. Thanks to Éponine, he could truthfully say he knew the plight of the abaissé.

Éponine bade Mathilde farewell, and she and Enjolras started for home. Enjolras was totally reliant on Éponine's keen sense of direction, as he was totally lost in these slums.

As they cut through an alley, a scruffy man rose unsteadily to his feet. Enjolras could tell he was drunk. He looked at Éponine, and then at Enjolras. "How much for your girl?"

Éponine's eyes went wide. Enjolras protectively put her behind him, so that he was standing between her and the drunkard. "My friend is not a slave to your pleasures! She is an honorable woman!"

But the man was insistent. "I'll give you twenty francs, and that's bein' generous. She don't look like she's even worth that much." He moved to grab Éponine, completely ignoring the fact that Enjolras was standing there.

In a panic, Éponine turned and ran. Enjolras hurried after her, but she always managed to stay just ahead of him. That is, until he heard a sharp cry.

"Éponine!" he yelled, and sprinted faster. He found her sprawled on the ground on the edge of the street. "Éponine, are you alright?"

She raised her head to look at him. "I tripped on a loose cobblestone. I think I sprained my ankle when I fell."

Enjolras offered her his hand to help her up, and she took it. She tried to put weight on her right foot, but she winced and her knees buckled. Enjolras caught her, and she held on to him tightly, both arms around his neck. Suddenly, he picked her up like a bride and carried her out of the alley.

"Whoa! Enjolras! What are you doing?" she protested.

"This is the only way you're getting home. You can't walk, and I'm strong enough to carry you. I'm Superboy, remember?" he smirked.

"But people are going to stare at us. It'll be so embarrassing!"

"I don't care what people think. You're injured. What matters to me is making sure you're safe." Enjolras couldn't help but notice how she clung to him a little tighter at that.

After a little while, Éponine noticed where he was taking her. "You don't need to take me to your apartment. Just drop me off on the street somewhere. I'll make it back to Montparnasse's place."

"I insist," Enjolras said. "Just for a few days. And knowing you, you'll be itching to be mobile again as soon as possible, so I'll have Joly bring a crutch for you so you can get around by yourself."

"Okay," Éponine conceded. She didn't tell him that she had been wishing she could stay at his apartment. Any place was better than living with Montparnasse.

When they reached Enjolras's apartment, he set her down on his bed. "You can have my bedroom. I'll sleep on the sofa."

"No, I don't mind!" Éponine urged. "Don't give up your bed for me!"

"Come on, 'Ponine, don't make me argue with you," Enjolras said in a mock stern tone, but he was smiling.

"Oh, alright, if you're sure you don't have any problem with this," Éponine drawled, stretching her leg out teasingly. "My sprained ankle, I mean."

"None at all." Enjolras really could be clueless sometimes. "Goodnight, 'Ponine."

translations

bonjour: good morning

madame: polite title for an older woman, French equivalent of "ma'am"