TO CARVE AN ANGEL FROM MARBLE act five, chapter thirty seven
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( may 1832 )
A WEEK HAD PASSED since the news of General Lamarque's illness had fallen upon the revolutionaries of the Cafe Musain. In that time, the quaint little cafe had undergone so many changes that it was hardly the same as it was when Madeleine first stumbled upon it nearly nine months ago.
The nightly meetings were no longer held with excitement and laughter. A solemn atmosphere had taken root within their meeting room, putting a damper on the usual high-spirits of the revolutionary students.
Not even Grantaire dared to attempt to liven the place, instead spending his time seated in the corner of the room drinking or sleeping through the talks of rebellion.
Enjolras was, unsurprisingly, more committed to his rebellion than ever. His days were spent continuously reading and writing speeches, often awake so late into the night that the moon had begun to fall and the horizon glowed orange when he finally gave up his fervent work.
Because of this, he and Madeleine had grown a bit distant— though not at all in a bad way. He was never short with her, and he always took the time to tell her how much he appreciated her, but she knew to give him space. Their time together was often spent in silence, Madeleine reading or drawing while Enjolras buried himself in his work.
While she didn't mind it, for she knew just how important it was to him, she often worried that he overworked himself. It was obvious that he was exhausted, but he would never admit to the fact.
While most of Les Amis shared their leaders passion for the impending revolution, each of them more focused than ever, there was one member who, more often than not, had his mind on something else entirely.
And one specific afternoon near the end of May was no different.
"Tell me again why I can't just get her a rose?" Marius stared down at an old notepad he held in his hand, where he apparently had a list of possible gifts he could give to his lady friend (whose name, Madeleine learned, was Cosette.)
Courfeyrac, who sat beside him, threw his head back with a groan. "Because every man gives his lover a rose! It's 1832, for Christ's sake— it's time we get a little creative when it comes to wooing our women!"
"Your idea of wooing women, Courfeyrac, is staring at them until they feel obliged to speak to you," commented Prouvaire with a laugh.
"That's not true!" Courfeyrac held a hand over his heart in feign hurt. "Well, perhaps it is. But it works! I've deemed it the Courfeyrac Charm."
Both Prouvaire and Madeleine, who sat across the room at a table with Enjolras, let out a simultaneous groan.
Courfeyrac frowned and jabbed an accusatory finger in Prouvaire's direction. "Since you're so knowledgeable on this topic, Monsieur Romeo, tell us: what kind of flower do you think Marius should get for his lovely lady?"
