ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER FOUR

There were noises coming from above. 

Occasional thuds. The scraping of furniture against a wooden floor. Indecipherable shouts. Rushed, excited voices, speaking at a pace too fast for Claudine to understand. 

She studied the stairs leading up to the second floor from where she was seated. The steps looked a tad too worn out, which meant she had to be exceptionally careful if-

"Don't even think about it," someone snapped from across the room.

Claudine turned to see a plump woman seated uncomfortably on a small chair, which was straining under her weight. "Who are you?"

"What brilliant manners you have!" The lady replied hotly, glaring at Claudine with all the disgust she could muster. "I'm the owner of this café."

Claudine's gaze darted around her surroundings for the fifth time. "This is a café?"

"Yes. What did you think it was?"

"A building that had been abandoned in the eighteenth century," Claudine responded honestly.

The woman's face contorted in rage. "You insolent little-"

Claudine blinked. "I was merely stating the truth." She kept a carefully blank expression, but when the lady's scowl deepened, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smirk. "Why can't I go upstairs?"

"Don't ask me," the lady muttered, "I know nothing of what transpires up there. Ask Enjolras." She vaguely gestured upwards at the ceiling.

Claudine had no idea who Enjolras was, but she stood up anyway. "Alright, I will," she said, and proceeded to march up the stairs.

The lady, dumbfounded, took several seconds to process this situation.

"Wait - no!" She cried, gathering up her skirts and stumbling after Claudine. "Come back-"

"I'll take responsibility for her, Madame Hucheloup," a smooth voice cut in.

Claudine stilled, hardly believing what she had just heard. Slowly, she let her gaze drift upwards-

- into a pair of eyes. Eyes like sea frost, the color of muted blue. Eyes that contained a slight, surprised flicker of recognition.

You, his eyes seemed to say, Again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was rudely interrupted.

"Ah, an intruder!" A loud voice exclaimed. "God help her."

Upon hearing this, Claudine glanced up to see a row of young men leaning curiously over the banister, staring down at her.

"Courfeyrac," the boy in front of her said calmly, "do shut up." His cold, piercing eyes never left her face.

"Éponine," Claudine stuttered out the name, already regretting her decision to climb up the stairs. "I was just looking for Éponine."

The boy's stern expression did not at all shift. Had he even heard her?

"I believe," he began, quietly, "we have met before."

Claudine nodded slowly. His voice, though quiet, rang out across the café.

"You saved my life."

"Unintentionally," Claudine couldn't stop herself from saying, for that was, after all, the truth.

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, but only for a moment; a moment so small it didn't seem real. "Nevertheless, how can I repay you?"

"Just... let me go," Claudine blurted out, desperation edging her voice. She was beginning to feel unnerved by all the stares she was receiving. "I just need Éponine to show me the way back home. The man in the worker's cap offered to find her for me, but he hasn't come back yet."

"She's not here," the boy said dismissively, glancing over his shoulder. "I will take you there myself. Combeferre, tell Feuilly to stop searching for Éponine. It is obvious that she only comes here for Pontmercy."

"No, thank you, Monsieur - I do not wish to trouble you." 

"Consider this repayment for what you have done," the boy said. The words were meant to be kind, but he spoke with no kindness, only resoluteness, and they whipped past Claudine's ears like a frigid winter breeze. He started going down the stairs, and she had no choice but to follow.

"Strangers are not allowed on the second floor of the Musain Café," he said once both of them were out on the streets. "Please bear this in mind the next time you come to visit, if ever."

"What happens to intruders?"

"I talk to them," he replied simply, then abruptly changed the topic. "Where do you live?"

"I can find my way back from the elephant."

"The Bastille Elephant," he corrected automatically. "It was conceived in 1808 by Napoleon, and was originally intended to be made out of bronze, but only a plaster full-scale model was built."

"I see," Claudine muttered, and that was it. No more words were exchanged between them for the remainder of the short journey.

___

When Claudine reached home, she realized she still didn't know the boy's name. She had meant to ask, but he made her forget things. It was his eyes that did it. All it took was a glance from him - it made her head feel light and giddy, rendered her unable to think. But she liked that sensation, in a way. She liked how he could make her forget all of her worries, even if it was just for a little while.

What she didn't like was the sheer amount of power he possessed over other people. Everyone, including his own friends, was a little scared of him - she could tell by the way their gaze immediately darted to him at the mere sound of his voice. She was afraid to see what he was capable of. 

Terrible, she realized all of a sudden, the word crashing down onto her thoughts. How he had rallied the people with such ease, how he had won the hearts of the crowd with a few clever words - he was, undoubtedly and unequivocally, capable of being terrible.

For the first time in a long while, Claudine felt genuinely afraid.