ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER TWO

Claudine learned the streets with her ears more than anything else. Éponine, having finally found someone her age to talk to, was only too eager to rattle off tales and stories of the dark, crooked places of Paris she frequented. She never spoke about the obvious, only about the nooks and crannies where no one bothered to look. Her voice, rough and feminine, wrapped around Claudine like smoke, her words tinkling past her ears like a melody played on a broken piano.

As Claudine listened, she realized that Éponine hardly ever mentioned her family. The closest she came to that was the Patron-Minette, a gang of four criminals led by her father. 

"Montparnasse is pretty; like an angel, but with a flair for murder. Claquesous is a brilliant ventriloquist. Brujon's got too much brawn and too little brains. Babet can do anything, which makes him an extremely vital part of the Patron-Minette..." 

The way Éponine described them was light and unbelievably casual. She spoke about them as if they were her good friends, like she enjoyed being associated with them, which was a little odd and disconcerting.

Despite all this, Claudine felt a strange sort of bond holding the both of them together, an unexpected connection that kept growing through Éponine's incessant chatter and her cautious replies. Perhaps Éponine understood what it was like to feel forgotten and unwanted; like she could disappear one day, and no one would know.

The trundling of an incoming carriage jolted Claudine off her train of thoughts. It was close enough for her to smell the strong, invigorating scent of the horses, and for a fleet second, she thought of Melanie, her beloved coal-black mare, waiting for her at home.

Éponine yanked her back forcefully by the collar of her shirt, and the carriage passed by, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Had she been an inch closer, it would have taken her nose with it.

"Always stick to the sides of the streets," Éponine said. "Carriages these days will gladly run you over if you're in their way."

Ahead of them both, the carriage came to a stop.

Éponine made an obscene gesture at it.

The man getting out of the carriage stilled, his head turned in Éponine's direction. He was hardly a man; just a boy, really, with light brown hair that stuck up in tufts, catching the sunlight. Éponine's expression shifted from one of indignation to one of awe, but she always finished what she started, so she inclined her head and glared.

The boy, visibly traumatized, stumbled a bit before regaining his balance. He rubbed his nose and awkwardly shuffled away.

Éponine grinned wickedly. "Let's follow him. He looks like a rich, bumbling fool. An easy target, no doubt."

Claudine felt like a criminal, crouching in shadows and tiptoeing past crooked buildings. She didn't particularly like it, used as she was to walking with surety and purpose in her step, but she was interested in the young man too. He appeared handsome, privileged and well-read, three qualities that would have made any other man arrogant, but he had a down-to-earth, slightly foolish air about him.

From their safe distance, Claudine could see that he was carrying a bulky traveling bag, to which was affixed a card bearing in large black letters the name of MARIUS PONTMERCY.

She turned to tell this to Éponine, but at this moment, another man stepped out of the building they were hiding behind. He was bald, dark-skinned, and Marius Pontmercy didn't appear to know him. 

They watched as the two men conversed. Claudine picked up bits and pieces of their conversation.

"... Blondeau... absentees... I, monsieur, have bowels of compassion... down with Blondeau!... present."

"I'm mortified."

"... In danger... becoming a lawyer... I owe it to you, Marius Pontmercy... where do you live?"

"For the past two hours, in a carriage. Now, nowhere."

His voice was tired. Defeated. The voice of someone who was done with the world.

"Éponine," Claudine said quietly, "We should leave him alone."

Éponine looked scandalized. "What? No!"  

"Éponine," Claudine urged. The bald man cheerily bade his farewell to Marius Pontmercy, muttering something about a rally. Éponine, seeing this window of opportunity, darted out from the alley, narrowly avoiding Claudine's grasp, and ran straight up to Marius.

Much to Claudine's surprise, she didn't try to filch anything from Marius's pockets. Instead, she chatted with him like any well-bred bourgeois mademoiselle would. Marius, however, did not bother to entertain her - he was looking ahead silently, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

Claudine decided to wander off on her own, leaving Éponine to her valiant attempts at catching Marius's attention. 

Her feet took her to the clearing at the center of the town.

Something was happening - she could feel it in her bones. The people around her were restless, filled with some kind of unexplained energy, much unlike the people she had seen earlier in the streets. 

She could almost feel their hearts stirring. Like someone was calling them out of their slumber.

She took a few steps forward, and she heard the voice.

It was rich and golden and passionate, but had a hard edge of steel to it. It tugged at her heartstrings and brought little bursts of electricity to her fingertips, leaving her body tingling all over. 

It made her feel like she could do anything, and she wanted more. 

She barreled her way past the wall of people separating her from the voice. She didn't have the patience to squeeze through all the gaps between the sweaty bodies, though she was small enough to do so. 

She was close, close enough to catch a glimpse of hair like spun gold. The voice shouted. The audience roared back. Her heart soared. She was nearly there. She would see the owner of the voice, and she would-

Something blue blocked her vision.

It was an officer's navy uniform. The shiny silver buttons on it made her go cross-eyed.

A gunshot pierced the air. The voice was cut off.

She didn't know what possessed her to flee. If she had dispersed with the crowd, she wouldn't have drawn attention to herself. Running was suspicious. It implied that she had done something wrong. 

Perhaps it was her father's voice that did it, panic-riddled and urgent in her head.

The gendarmes. Danger. They want to kill you. They want to kill all of us. 

You will not kill me, she thought fiercely as she ran, fear and determination giving her feet wings. She knew she was stupid, but once she started running, she couldn't stop, couldn't look back. Her lungs were bursting, and when she couldn't last another second, she swerved into an alley.

Her face, red with the thrill of a full-out sprint, shaded to a sheet-white.

Someone else was already there.