ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER SIX

He was always watching her go.

She was like a bird, taking flight whenever he got too close; difficult to reach, impossible to keep. He didn't like that - cowardliness was one of the attributes he detested most in a person. But she didn't seem at all reluctant to stand up for what she believed in, and that was a clear indicator of bravery. 

"She annoys me," he told Gavroche, who was still peering out of the Bastille Elephant. 

"That's only because she's right, and you're wrong," the boy replied jauntily, and Enjolras glowered at him. Any other person at the receiving end of his stare would have withered under it, but Gavroche simply grinned. "The high and mighty Enjolras can be so blind to his own faults at times."

"I am not high and mighty," Enjolras insisted, folding his arms across his chest and angling his head up indignantly towards the sky, looking the very epitome of high and mighty.

"You were born into the bourgeoisie. It is hardly surprising that you would act like one."

Gavroche watched in fascination and smug satisfaction as the tips of Enjolras's ears turned red. He pressed his lips together, turned elegantly on his heel, and left in a fit of pique. 

Enjolras rarely walked away from anything, and to make him do so was truly an achievement of the highest order. Gavroche was content. He could recount this incident to Courfeyrac later - it would make a good addition to their secret list of Enjolras's Imperfect Moments, which, at the moment, was completely empty.  

___

Doubt was a feeling that Enjolras had never experienced before. It slowly snuck its way into his mind, interfering with his grand thoughts of revolution, and by evening, his head was pounding with an intense pain.

All his life, he had been sure of everything. He was sure that he hated the bourgeois life, sure that he would not at all regret cutting off contact with his entire bourgeois family, sure that he was able to garner all the support he needed to destroy the monarchy and deliver the oppressed.

Suddenly, he wasn't so sure anymore.

He told this to Combeferre, his second-in-command and closest friend; the only one who understood that despite his cold, stoic exterior, he had emotions just like any other.

"Combeferre," he said, expressionless even with his thoughts in turmoil, "do you think I am a hypocrite?"

Combeferre smiled gently - he had been acquainted with Enjolras for far too long to be thrown off by his unexpected questions. "How so?"

"I speak so passionately about lifting poverty from the people, yet I do not even spare a glance towards them."

"I believe that the poor will support you more if you bother to understand what they have to go through every day and see the extent of their suffering. However, I do not think you are a hypocrite."

Enjolras sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I met someone who told me, straight to my face, that I did not know what I was fighting for. I thought it ridiculous at first, but the more I think about it, the truer it seems."

"He offered an interesting perspective. You should talk to him again and ask for suggestions on how you can improve."

"Her," Enjolras corrected, and both of Combeferre's eyebrows shot up. Had Courfeyrac been bearing witness to this exchange, he would have laughed. "I do not know who she is, or what she does, or where she lives. I think it would be quite impossible to find her again. She seemed rather keen on running away from me."