ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Enjolras was no stranger to beauty. His sisters were pretty enough, with long golden locks that framed their delicate faces like sheets of silk. Musichetta, the waitress girl that the boys occasionally called to serve their drinks, had nice violet eyes that glowed like precious stones against her dark skin.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Claudine. She thundered across the square on her horse like a streak of dark lightning, an expression of wild, unencumbered delight displayed across her small face. She was normally so guarded, so careful. This abrupt shift in her demeanor left Enjolras just a little more breathless than he had anticipated.

"We certainly drew the attention of the people." Combeferre's serene features melted into a warm, gentle grin. He clapped Enjolras on the shoulder. "That's exactly what you wanted, Chief."

Enjolras murmured in assent. From his spot on the platform, he could see a rapidly growing crowd, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Horses were a dime a dozen in the streets of Paris, but there was something about Claudine and Melanie, something raw and untameable and throbbing with pure energy, that drew people in like a moth to a flame. Himself included.

"She is beautiful," Enjolras declared, in the same way he would declare an argument closed. It was final, irreversible. He said it unabashedly, for he knew it was true. 

Combeferre kept his mouth neutral, but there were sparks dancing in his eyes that hinted of the smile beneath. "Indeed," he agreed. 

The crowd was getting more restless by the second. Their mutters and coughs blurred into a single hum that thrummed against Enjolras's skull. He was well accustomed to this feeling, this fiery thrill that coursed through his veins before every rally, but he would never tire of it. It was time. 

"It's all yours, Chief," he heard Combeferre say. 

He opened his mouth and began.

___

Gavroche appraised the large black mare in his quick, silent way. Other horses had dull eyes, but this horse's eyes were bright and entirely too intelligent. He wanted to have her. Perhaps, if he asked nicely enough, Claudine would -

Wait, he reminded himself. After what his sister had done, he wasn't sure if Claudine would still consider him to be her friend. He didn't understand why Éponine had betrayed her, not entirely. He didn't want to know. The majority of Éponine's bad decisions sprung from love, and that would mean she loved Azelma - but not him, never him. It stung.

Claudine, as if sensing his gaze, turned to meet his eyes with an eerie steadiness that somehow reminded him of Enjolras. For a while, they just stared at each other, her from atop her horse, him from atop Courfeyrac's shoulders. She seemed to be deciding on something, but Gavroche was almost certain that it did not bode well for him.

And then she smiled. It was not the subtle, pensive smile he had only ever seen on her, but a wide grin that revealed her teeth and shaped her eyes into pretty little crescents. As it always was with Claudine, her actions spoke louder than her words. She was sending him a message with her smile. 

I am not angry at you. You are still my friend.

Gavroche liked to believe that people did not matter to him. Perhaps Courfeyrac or Éponine did, just a little, but it stopped there. There was a risk that came with letting too many people into his heart. He had told himself, repeatedly, that the loss of Claudine's friendship was insignificant - without her, life would be just the same. But now, with his heart warming with a heat that rivaled that of the sun, he realized that was untrue.