TO CARVE AN ANGEL FROM MARBLE act four, chapter thirty one
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( march 1832 )
MADELEINE AWOKE TO FEEL herself encompassed in a warm embrace, the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath her cheek. At first, she was confused, for she had not yet recalled the events that occurred in the late hour of the night. She tried to sit up, but a pair of arms wrapped tightly around her prevented her from doing so. She was only able to lift her head. When she did so, everything came rushing back upon finding Enjolras beneath her.
He was still fast asleep, and she realized that she'd never before seen him appear so relaxed. The seemingly permanent crease in his brow was nowhere to be seen, his lips were parted slightly, void of his usual frown. He appeared almost youthful and far more innocent.
He would always carry himself with an air of confidence, speaking with the passion and authority of a man of far more years, that it was often easy to forget just how young he really was.
Madeleine found herself smiling as she admired him. She reached up to brush his messy curls from his face, and this small touch caused him to tighten his hold around her. He held her to his body as if he was frightened that, if he let go, she would simply disappear. In such a vulnerable state of mind, he was unable to maintain the hardened visage that he wore whenever he was awake.
It was a side of him that, as time passed, she was beginning to see more often. It wasn't the first time the thought crossed her mind, but she wondered how she managed to get so lucky to have this marbled man, who seemed to care for nothing but the liberation of France, to feel for her— to care for her. At that moment, she felt as if she was the luckiest person in the entire world.
Finally, after several minutes of struggling against the unwavering hold he had on her, Madeleine was able to crawl out of bed. There was a part of her that didn't want to leave, for she was unable to deny how at home she felt in his arms, but the other part of her was afraid to be there when he woke up.
What would he think? What would he say? Would things be different between them because they had slept in the same bed— something that was considered so intimate that it was seldom done before marriage?
Madeleine slipped on her dressing robe, then moved to the door of the bedroom. She turned back and watched him sleep for a moment longer before stepping out to prepare some breakfast.
Thankfully, Lesgle was yet to emerge from her bedroom, where he had crashed the night before. The last thing she wanted to do was explain why she had been in Enjolras' room, sleeping in the same bed as him— knowing Lesgle, who was just like every other member of Les Amis, he would have been quick to tell the others like some bourgeoisie lady who was desperate to spread gossip.
