ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER SEVEN

Enjolras blanched.

The Les Amis de l'ABC were in hysterics. 

Grantaire, the drunk maniac, had rolled off his stool onto the ground, his body racked with obnoxious laughter. Bahorel joined in, his large fists pounding on the table. Jehan Prouvaire cried tears of mirth, and Combeferre - loyal, steadfast Combeferre - couldn't even suppress his grin.

The fault was all Courfeyrac's. He had read the whole letter out loud. Enjolras had unfolded the paper, expecting a formal, civil reply of at least a few sentences, unaware of Courfeyrac's curious head peeking round his shoulder. 

Bossuet choked out some words through his laughter. "The fact that she is a female..."

"Makes it even funnier," Joly finished for him.

"It's not," Enjolras replied icily, his gaze full of daggers. He loved his friends, he really did, but they were proving more and more difficult to love by the minute. In fact, all he wanted to do at that moment was to grab the legs of the large table and overturn it right onto Grantaire's gleeful face.

Instead, he pushed his chair back from the table harshly and stood up. He felt the weight of his friends' stares on him as he stalked out of the room, holding his back as stiff as a board. 

He strode out onto the streets and walked. He did not know where he was going, nor whether his friends were following. All he knew was one thing - he had to find that blasted girl.

___

"I see him," Gavroche poked his head into the top of the Bastille Elephant, his little silhouette dark against the bright sunlight.

"Does he look angry?" Éponine asked eagerly.

"Yes, but that's his default expression all the time."

Claudine laughed out loud for the first time that week. The more time she spent with her new friends, the more she realized that there wasn't a need to hold herself back. Gavroche and Éponine were blunt but surprisingly accepting towards her, and despite her having only known them for less than a month, she felt significantly happier with them than with the gypsies.

Gavroche's head popped back in after a few moments. "He wants to talk to you, Claudine."

Claudine nodded. She was determined that she would not run away from him this time. 

___

"That was hardly necessary," he told her, all regal disdain and cold, narrowed eyes. 

She frowned confusedly at his aggrieved tone. "What?"

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

He folded his arms across his chest. "I would rather not bicker with you over this trivial matter. I simply wanted to ask if you would be willing to assist me in the -"

"Yes," she interjected, and he was genuinely taken aback by the readiness of her response. "What do you need help with?"

"I was hoping you could show me the lives of the poor."

She stilled for a moment, as if trying to overcome some sort of internal struggle.

"I can't help you with that," she said at last.

He flushed, suddenly aware of the mistake he might have made. "I am sorry for making the assumption that you were one of the less fortunate," he gushed out. "I hope you do not take offense, but I thought you simply did not look like someone from the middle class."

"No," she replied, her eyes unfocused. She fiddled with the band on her wrist. "It's not like that. It's a little complicated."

He flashed his teeth in what he hoped was a charming manner as he waited impatiently for her to collect her thoughts.

"I do know someone who can help you with that, though," she finally muttered, looking up from her hands. Her gaze flitted to him, and he noticed, for the first time, that her eyes were a very startling shade of blue. 

He felt the need to thank her, and so he did, a little too stiffly. She laughed softly in response, and he blinked at the sudden brightness of her eyes.

___

"The Red Light District," Éponine announced, pointing to the deserted streets stretched out in front of them, and that was enough to send chills up Enjolras's spine. It was where the darkest, most dangerous people lurked, where only the most desperate or the most wretched would go. Claudine had heard about the infamous Red Light District from the occasional snatches of gypsy gossip that floated around, but it had not been sufficient to prepare her for the suffocating darkness and evil of the place.

"You," Éponine turned to address Enjolras. "Beware of the ladies. Once they get ahold of you, they'll never let you go. Your pretty boy face only worsens the situation..." 

Enjolras merely looked the other way. 

As they traveled deeper and deeper into the heart of the Red Light District, Éponine started waving to and conversing with a few of the women that sat with their backs against the brick walls, waiting. Waiting for what exactly, Claudine did not particularly wish to know.

Enjolras stared at her with an expression that could only be described as horror. "Éponine, do you come here often?"

He was too loud. Of course pretty boys who yelled out rousing speeches to fight for the citizens' freedom wouldn't know how to whisper. The prostitutes who were listening cackled with laughter.

Éponine pressed her lips together and smiled grimly. "Money is important."

Enjolras, overtaken by a sudden wave of self-disgust, fumbled in his coat pocket for a few spare coins, but Éponine waved his money away.

"You made the effort to learn about our lives. That's enough."

When they were at last out of the Red Light District, Claudine could breathe again. She gulped in large lungfuls of fresh air, once again grateful for the sunlight.

They said their goodbyes to Éponine, and Claudine shifted closer to Enjolras.

"Monsieur Enjolras," she said cautiously, "do you know what you are fighting for now?"

"I am fighting for the wretched. The woman who sold her teeth and hair so she could bring her severely ill child to the doctor. The little girl who was forced into prostitution at the age of twelve because it was the only way she could provide for her large family. And Éponine, whom I've always assumed to be a mere street urchin - I never knew she had to resort to such means to earn money as well." He said it all in a single breath.

"Good," Claudine nodded. 

A beat of silence passed between them.

"Your name," he suddenly blurted out. "I do not know your name, mademoiselle."

She told him her name quietly, like a reluctant gift. The breeze cooled her cheeks and mussed his thick hair.