ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Éponine waited in the Café, head pounding, heart racing. There was a kind of waiting that was calm and certain, like waves lapping against the shore. The other kind of waiting, however, was painful, like someone had beaten her head with a hefty plank of wood. Éponine had only ever experienced the latter.

"I don't think Pontmercy will come today," Courfeyrac told her amicably as he walked past. "I saw him in his new hat and coat today. He was probably going to take an examination."

"I'm not waiting for him," Éponine snapped. She had no patience for rich boys who weren't happy with their perfect little world. 

Courfeyrac held both his hands up in mock surrender. "Good-day to you, too."

___

Saying that Éponine looked horrible was something of an understatement. Somehow, over the past few days, her cheeks had completely hollowed out, her skin had taken on a sickly pallor, and dark shadows had formed under her oil-black eyes. When they travelled up to meet Claudine's gaze, they looked like gaping, empty voids.

When Éponine started walking towards her, she backed away involuntarily. The girl looked dead, like something had sucked the life out of her.

"Claudine," Éponine called, her voice cracking, "It was me. I thought you deserved to know."

"I don't understand," Claudine replied in a hoarse whisper, even though a part of her already did. 

"I was the one who led the gendarmes to the Court of Miracles. I am responsible for the destruction of your home. Claudine, I am so, so sorry."

"Why?" Claudine managed to bite out, despite the stinging sensation pricking her eyes, despite the dreadful, harrowing feeling of betrayal that seized her entire body. 

"My father... he threatened to sell Azelma's body if I didn't comply, and I just couldn't let him do it. The gendarmes offered a big reward for anyone who managed to reveal the location of your home. It was too big for him to forgo. Of course, that isn't a worthy explanation - I know there is none. I - I..."

Claudine watched as Éponine's words failed her. She wanted to forgive her. She wanted her friend back. But the damage done had been too deep, too irreversible. Claudine couldn't find it within herself to assure Éponine that it was fine, because it wasn't. Her heart turned dangerously cold. 

"The gypsies. They weren't much, but they were all I had. And you took them all away from me."

"Claudine, I didn't mean to -"

"Trusting you was a mistake."

A single tear rolled down Éponine's grimy cheek. Had Claudine not been so livid, it would have taken her by surprise - people like Éponine never cried. "I suppose you must really hate me now. But I don't blame you."

Claudine's icy glare continued burning into Éponine. She made no response.

"You were the only true friend I ever -"

"Enough," someone cut in tersely, but that voice wasn't Claudine's. 

Enjolras strode in between the two girls. His eyes glittered under the dim light, almost cruelly. He had heard everything, and so had the rest.

"Éponine," he commanded, his voice so packed with authority and resoluteness that she had no choice but to obey, "Leave. Now."

 As Éponine left, Claudine underwent the thoroughly unpleasant experience of having nine unwavering gazes fixed on her. She didn't know what they were thinking, and that frightened her more than she cared to admit. They knew she was a gypsy. Would they think she was a liar, a thief and a cheat as well? Would they remove her from the Les Amis? If they did, she hoped they would do it kindly. 

Enjolras turned to her, his expression unreadable. 

That's it, Claudine thought bitterly, clenching her hands into fists so tight they started shuddering. It's over. I'm going to lose all I have left.

Instead, his mouth quirked to the side in a manner that could only be described as apprehensive. Claudine could almost see him racking his brains for the appropriate words to say. 

Combeferre jumped in to the rescue. "We are here for you," he began. "It must hurt, losing your entire family. But you can always find another family in us." 

"That's right," Feuilly added, flashing her a kind, sad smile. "I hope we can be your friends. I hope you can find it within yourself to trust us someday, despite all that has happened."

"Do you want a hug?" Courfeyrac offered, holding his arms outstretched, an impish grin plastered to his face. "My hugs are absolutely wonderful. Enjolras can testify."

"Quiet," Enjolras muttered darkly.

Claudine's stomach was swimming with emotions she couldn't quite explain. "Why are all of you so kind to me? You do not mind that I'm a... a..."

"Gypsy?" Feuilly finished for her, and she nodded. She could not even bring herself to say that out loud. 

He laughed. "Gypsy or Parisian, foreign or local, we are all humans. What does it matter?"

"We are all damned." A hoarse voice, one that Claudine had never heard before, sounded from the corner of the Café. It was the drunkard. The whites of his eyes were streaked with red, and his black hair piled atop his head like a bird's nest. He was what people would deem as ugly at first glance, but just like his voice, there was an undertone of sullen, rough beauty beneath it all. "In the end, we all turn back to dust."

He shot a pointed look at Enjolras. Something intense, dark and bizarre lurked in his gaze, something hidden so well that Claudine thought she'd merely imagined it. Then he looked at Claudine, right in the eyes, and there was hate in it. Once again, Claudine dismissed it as a figment of her imagination.

Combeferre cleared his throat. "What Grantaire means is, being a gypsy does not make you any less of a human, or any less than us, for that matter. It does not at all change the way we view you. Besides, I believe that many of us hold you in reverence for standing strong throughout the entire ordeal."

"You're a fighter. Maybe not physically, but you're one here." The big, stocky boy spoke up, pointing to his own heart. "I can see it in your eyes. I know a fighter when I see one."

Claudine blinked, unsure how to receive the sudden surge of compliments from people she barely knew. Hesitantly, she glanced at Enjolras, who was the only one who had not yet commented or reacted on the matter one way or another. 

His shoulders tensed. Then he jerked his head to face her, and his stern mouth cracked into a lopsided, oddly charming smile.

Claudine felt a jolt of pleasure run through her body. Her heartbeat slammed into a violent stop, and in that moment, everything else dulled and faded away.

She counted the seconds till her heart could beat again. Seven - not too bad.

Enjolras's face had long since changed back to cold marble, wiped clean of any emotion whatsoever. There was no hint of his smile. "I believe the matter is settled. Everything will be just as before. Shall we begin our meeting?" 

Sounds of assent rumbled across the room. As the boys brought their stools closer to the table, Claudine rubbed her eyes. She was hallucinating too much these days.