Lisette

Chapter 3 ~ The Butterfly is a Success, Man is a Failure

The week passed by in something of a daze. Joly and Combeferre frequently dropped in - Joly insisted on keeping the wound on my face clean with brandy, and that I drink nothing except boiled water, but that I eat well. My appetite got better by the day, and I regained the ability to eat proper meals again. Enjolras spent most of the time that he was around reading or writing, though he was often out, either at lectures during the day, or seeing friends in the evenings. I spent most of my time in bed, at the insistence of all three, but upon learning from Enjolras that I liked drawing, Combeferre brought me a pencil and small notebook. I was out of practise, but it was wonderful to have the time and freedom again to look so closely at things, and put them down on paper. By the end of the week, I had worn the pencil short with drawing everything of interest in the room - and there is interest in almost anything when it is examined closely enough. Anything to distract me from what had happened - to try and stop me from turning inwards, and thinking. By now, my black eye had calmed down enough that I could almost see out of both eyes again, and the bruises across the rest of my body were beginning to turn purple and yellow.

Eventually, the two medical students deemed that it was time to remove the stitches from my face. It didn't hurt nearly as much as I had expected, but I dreaded seeing a reflection of my face - in a shop window, in a mirror - anything. And the thought of going outside again was likewise terrifying. Especially if I were to go on my own. On the other hand, I could hardly continue to rely on the charity of these young men. They had given me plenty, and all I had given them was trouble and expense.

I traced the now healing wound on my face with a finger - it trailed from just to the right of my right eye, down across my cheek, angling towards my nose, and then through my lips to my chin. Joly was saying something to me.

"Hmm?"

"The bandage around your ribs - if we take it off, your stays will probably be able to act in place of it. And you should come outside. The fresh air will do you good."

"No! I can't - I mean - I don't - it isn't - "

"It won't do you any harm. And this way we can find you some clothes that fit you. We often walk through the Luxembourg gardens, too - I'm sure you can find some diversion there - there'll be people who you can draw who aren't the three of us!" said Combeferre. 

And so, for the first time in a week, I went outside. On the somewhat roundabout way we took to the Luxembourg gardens, we passed through fripperers, milliners, drapers, and haberdasher's shops, and by the time it was all over I must have looked almost a different person. I had three - three! - new chemises, all of a fine holland linen, some new (second hand) stays that fit as well as the old, but weren't pulling apart at every line of stitching, and two new petticoats, one of a thick brown woollen broadcloth, and another of fine, bright blue worsted. Two new pairs of stockings were bought, and some hobnail boots were found that (though they could hardly be called elegant) fitted, and had soles. I had a new cap, some linen to fashion myself a couple of aprons, some brightly patterned kerchiefs, and best of all a scarlet jacket that fitted perfectly over my new stays. One could hardly call me fashionable, but I was well and respectably dressed, and (more to the point) warm!

It was something wonderful to be able to look at my clothes in the reflections of the shop windows, though I always avoided looking at my face.

When we reached the Luxembourg gardens, some other young men joined us. They were introduced as Courfeyrac, and Lesgle. The former had dark, curly hair, while the latter (though also young) was entirely bald. The distraction of their conversation was a balm on the wounds of the last week, and, sitting on a bench drawing while they played at bowls, I couldn't help but feel safe for the first time in months.