TO CARVE AN ANGEL FROM MARBLE act four, chapter thirty
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( march 1832 )
ENJOLRAS NEVER FELT A rush quite like the one he felt during a rally. The people of Paris gathered for him, to hear him speak of a life they could have— no, a life that they would have. The countless hopeful gazes that stared up at him— to some, a savoir dressed in red sent from God above, to others (perhaps a more realistic group) a man brave enough to speak openly about the treacherous monarchy that once again plagued their great country.
Nonetheless, as he saw them gathered beneath him, cheering him on as he spoke of the change that he wished to bring, he felt as if he was the most powerful man in the world. He felt as if he could finally do something good.
His concentration was broken upon hearing a series of fearful cries followed closely by the sound of horse hooves tapping against the cobblestone. Officers on horseback were approaching the crowd that had gathered around him. They shouted out warnings against gathering to hear "revolutionary propaganda", causing the people to scatter out of fear.
Enjolras shared a glance with Combeferre, who stood beside him, and immediately the two men leaped off of their makeshift stage to blend in with the crowd. However, the red tailcoat that he wore— something that he found necessary to his rally attire to represent the anger of the people, the blood that had already been spilled— caused him to stick out like a sore thumb.
He tried to sneak into an alleyway, splitting off from Combeferre to draw as little attention as possible, but his path was suddenly blocked by a dark-colored stallion. Sitting atop the horse was an officer who stared down at him with a venomous glare that he knew went beyond his revolutionary views.
It was Leon.
He hopped off his horse and landed on the street in front of Enjolras. "I should arrest you— let you spend the rest of your days in a cell, but I'm willing to reconsider, if you're helpful."
It was evident he was attempting to appear threatening, but ever since that night at dinner, when he'd defended that sick gendarme rather than his own sister, Enjolras lost any and all respect for him.
"I doubt I could be of any use to you," said Enjolras coldly.
Leon's fingers drummed over the shackles he kept on his belt, another threatening gesture that only made Enjolras roll his eyes. "My sister has been missing for over a month. Have you seen her?"
Of course he had seen her. Just that morning, she'd emerged from her bedroom and made herself comfortable on the chaise lounge in his sitting room. She'd been wearing nothing but her nightgown, her hair loose from the confines of the pins that usually hold it back. Enjolras thought that she looked absolutely beautiful, but seeing her dressed in such a way seemed extremely intimate to him. He'd felt his entire body grow hot and his heartbeat had quickened at the sight.
