"Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come round again. That's why they're called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes." - Terry Pratchett, Night Watch
A retelling of part of Les Miserables, from about 1828-1832.
Élise was born i...
Knowing that Enjolras wanted the pamphlet of people's stories to be ready to go to press in the next week or two, Gavroche made much of finding more people I could talk to, including a sewer hunter and a pea soup seller. Enjolras, meanwhile, was continuing working on his small pamphlet teaching the basics of reading. It would still need someone who knew how to read to begin the teaching, but his hope was that it would make both reading and the teaching of reading more accessible.
The intimacy of that evening when he had given me the stockings was yet to be repeated, and neither of us talked about it. It had been more than a week, and I still wasn't certain what to make of it. Certainly, it wasn't the sort of interaction I'd expect from someone who was just a friend, but the way the others spoke about Enjolras, he was hardly the sort to take a mistress. And having so vehemently denied that I was anything of the sort to both Bossuet and Courfeyrac, the idea of having to admit that they were right felt strangely uncomfortable. Perhaps talking about things would have made things easier, but in an odd way, for all the uncertainty, I wasn't discontented with the situation.
On Sunday morning, when Enjolras woke up, he tugged my sewing away from me, and insisted that I get dressed.
"We're going on an adventure!" His eyes were sparkling with excitement, in the same way they had been on the evening he presented me with the dress.
"Where to?" I asked.
"It's a surprise. But I might give you a clue on the way there, if I feel that way inclined."
Having got dressed, and eaten a hurried breakfast, we went on our way, taking the route across the Luxembourg gardens as though we were going to the Musain. He linked his arm in mine, and we continued beyond the Pantheon.
"I think I might have some idea of where you're taking me," I said at last. "Can I perhaps have the clue, though, anyway?"
He smiled in response, and took from his jacket a small pamphlet.
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Inside the prettily printed border was the simple title "La Nouvelle Notice sur la Girafe."
"I don't know if you saw her when she first came to Paris," he said, "But I thought either way, it would be nice to pay her a visit."
"Of course I saw her when she first came! How could I not? Everyone was utterly obsessed with the creature! There were giraffe hairstyles, giraffe print fabrics, giraffe collars. People wouldn't shut up about her. I couldn't help feeling somewhat sorry for her, though - so far away from home, and without any of her own kind..."
"And now, she's virtually forgotten about. It's been less than two years since she arrived."
"That's people for you. As soon as something new and shiny comes along, they immediately discard their former favourite for it. Sometimes there doesn't even have to be something new to replace it - sometimes all it takes is the tarnish of commonplace."
