Almost before I knew it, Christmas was upon us again. I'd saved up some of my small income, from my 'proper' work sewing shirts, as well as what Enjolras and Monsieur Fauchelevent had paid me, and was relatively confident that even with spending money on a few presents, I'd still have a small amount put by in case anything went wrong. I knew I wanted to get something for Enjolras, though couldn't for the life of me think of what the ideal thing would be that would also be within my budget. He didn't smoke, play games such as cards or dominoes, or take snuff, and he barely drank, which rather limited the range of small things that I could buy that would be put to use. A nice pen would perhaps get some use, what with essay writing for university, or a notebook or blotter, perhaps. Clothing would probably be beyond what I could afford, though just in case, I took a length of string and, one day when he was out, took measurements from one of his coats and marked them with knots on the string.
Christmas dinner was had on Christmas Eve at the Corinthe. It was a restaurant that Grantaire had initially gone into when he was first a student (insofar as he could be described in such a capacity), attracted by the worn, painted advertisement on exterior wall which said "CARPE HO RAS - seize the hour." He kept returning, though, because of the excellent stuffed carp - CARPES HO GRAS, as the sign had once read - that Pere Hucheloup cooked. The wine from the bar downstairs was terrible, but the carp more than made up for it. Over the summer, it had become as much a rallying point as the Musain for all of us, and it seemed that we were always welcomed by the Hucheloups. Pere Hucheloup was a jovial host, for all his growling. The initial impression he gave was that his primary aim was to intimidate customers from behind his moustache - he ever gave the feeling of seeking a quarrel, if you didn't know him properly. He used to be a fencing master, and regaled us with stories sometimes, his sudden bursts of laughter half terrifying new customers who were used only to his apparent grumpiness.
His wife, Mere Hucheloup, was perpetually coming and going just like the two maids she employed, breathless and provincial, and given to rustic recollections enlivened by her pronunciation, which seemed strange and foreign for all that it was simply the result of her having lived most of her life far from Paris.
On the door by which we entered the restaurant room on the first floor, Courfeyrac had chalked the following line:—
Régale si tu peux et mange si tu l'oses.
Enjoy if you can, and eat if you dare.
It felt a little unfair, but Mere Hucheloup had never complained about this anymore than she did the verse about her scrawled on the wall in charcoal - I couldn't help wonder if it was the case that she simply couldn't read. It wasn't the most flattering of verses, but on the other hand she couldn't be considered a Venus any more than I could.
Elle étonne à dix pas, elle épouvente à deux,
Une verrue habite en son nez hasardeux;
On tremble à chaque instant qu'elle ne vous la mouche
Et qu'un beau jour son nez ne tombe dans sa bouche.
Even so, I wore my best dress - the one that I had worn to the ball however many months ago - and the cashmere that Enjolras had given me, though I forewent the satin slippers in favour of my boots, thanks to the snow that had covered the city. The last thing I wanted was to sit through dinner with cold, damp feet. The cashmere was amazingly warm, and in this December weather I was glad of it.
Feuilly was the only one there when we arrived, and we went up the wooden spiral staircase to the restaurant on the first floor together. It came up through a square hole in the floor that was much like a hatchway in a ship. I'd never seen a proper ship before, any more than I had seen the sea, and I couldn't help but wonder how much the room that we emerged into resembled being inside a ship. It was a large room, long and low, a little like a garret. If it was on a ship, the ceiling would probably be flat, rather than gabled, I thought, but Enjolras and Feuilly had already plunged too deeply into conversation for me to ask about the interior of ships. That probably wouldn't fit overly well with the current theme, which seemed to be the partition of Poland and how it related to the congress of Vienna. Did Poland have a coastline? I didn't know.
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Lisette
Fanfiction"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...
