ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It all happened so fast.

In hindsight, Claudine wondered why she hadn't realized it sooner. The signs were written all over the boys' faces - they'd grown more sombre, as if they already knew what lay before them.

First came the news that General Lamarque was gravely ill. Claudine hadn't known what it entailed, but knew that it had marked the start of something. There were less jokes, less banter, and whenever one the boys caught her eye, she thought she would see a faint trace of sadness in his smile.

She didn't know how it came to be, but each of the Les Amis had taken up a place in her heart. Every evening, when she attended their meetings, she would check off an imaginary list of their names in her head. When all eleven of them were there, including Marius and little Gavroche, she would feel a strange sense of peace, a quiet happiness that bubbled within her heart. They were like family; one that she had never known.

And now, she was going to lose them. At the end of the day, she would always be alone.

___

"General Lamarque is dead," Gavroche shouted.

Everyone froze in a stunned silence, and time seemed to slow. Seconds trickled into minutes, and Claudine looked at each one of their faces, carefully tucking away their expressions into the vast space of her memory.

Courfeyrac's mouth was open in disbelief. Bossuet looked resigned. It was an odd look on him. Jehan toyed with the buttons on his waistcoat, and Combeferre merely closed his eyes.

And Enjolras - Enjolras had fire in his eyes. Claudine had seen them cruel and steely, cold and determined, astonishingly gentle, even dilated in fear - but now they burned. 

"Raise a glass to freedom," Grantaire drawled sardonically, his husky voice melting into the stale air of the room. For a while, no one spoke, and Enjolras glared - but then Feuilly raised his own glass.

"Something they can never take away."

"No matter what they tell us." Enjolras's voice, firm and commanding, startled the rest of the boys out of their trance. In an instant, the mood shifted to something lighter, more bittersweet. Claudine watched as they sprang out of their seats, clapping each other on the backs, laughing and reminiscing, candlelight illuminating their youthful faces.

"Sad, isn't it?" 

Grantaire took a swig of his alcohol, his mouth twisting into a grimace. He moved noiselessly, just like the gypsies.

Claudine was surprised to see him beside her, and even more so at the fact that he was talking to her, but she kept her face neutral. "How so?"

"That they're all charging into their deaths. They've glorified it, re-conceptualized it as something noble and heroic. For Patria, Enjolras would say, and the others would gasp and marvel at his passionate, singular love for the country. But who is Patria, really? When the bullets come raining, when their hearts stop beating, there will be no more Patria. It's all in their heads. Poor, stupid, idealistic fools."

Claudine had no idea what to say to that, but the drunkard's gaze was dark and unexpectedly probing. He was far more intelligent than she had originally thought him to be. "Why are you still here, then?" She asked. It was the first thing that came to her mind.

Grantaire laughed, and it was a laugh unlike any other. Claudine couldn't fathom how someone's laugh could hold so much rancor, so much bitterness. "Why?" He chortled. "You tell me why, Mademoiselle Claudine. You should know best, after all."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." Grantaire murmured. He took a glass and poured out some wine. "For you. The others can't afford to get drunk tonight, but for you..."

Claudine realized what he was implying. She couldn't possibly join them at the barricades, could she? 

She didn't want to think about that, so she reached for the glass and brought it to her lips.

The alcohol left behind a path of heat, from her throat to her stomach. It warmed her cold body, and she thought of Enjolras, who radiated heat like a furnace. Then she thought of him dead, his skin clammy and colorless and cold, and suddenly she wished she could stop the world from spinning.

___

"What about you, Chief?" Combeferre inquired politely, his eyebrows raised. "Have you said your goodbyes?"

They were leaning against a wall, side by side, just the two of them.

"I said them years ago. I have nothing left to lose now."

"If you say so." Combeferre shrugged, then changed the topic. "Do you remember the first time you met us?"

Enjolras did. He'd met Combeferre first. A bookstore, the soft tinkling of chimes. The quiet shuffling of boots on the carpet. The memory was calm and gentle, just like Combeferre, but Enjolras hated remembering, especially in light of what was about to come. Remembering was looking back, and over the years, Enjolras had taught himself to steer clear of that.

"Chief," Combeferre said, "It's alright to remember, once in a while. Our brains are wired for remembrance. After all, the past has everything to do with who we are today." 

"You're a mind-reader," Enjolras muttered unhappily. "But yes, I do. I remember everything."

"Speaking of which, you never told me exactly how you met Claudine."

"I do not want to talk about her," Enjolras snapped.

"But I do," Combeferre retorted in the mildest way possible, and Enjolras knew at once that he was not going to get out of this conversation. "She's part of us too, Enjolras, no matter what you want to believe."

Enjolras swallowed. "Fine. I met her in an alley." 

He paused and tried to search for the right words.

"She was a shadow against the sunlight. When she appeared, I thought the gendarmes had found me at last - but she was my reprieve. I felt like I could breathe again."

Combeferre's response was soft, knowing. "You have to talk to her. I think you still have a lot left to say."

___

He found her next to Grantaire, sprawled out on the table, sleeping blissfully. Her cheeks were rosy and her fingers were curled loosely around an empty glass.

"What did you do to her?" He bit out at Grantaire.

He smirked. "Nothing. That's the truth. Wake her up and ask her yourself."

Enjolras shook her awake roughly. She blinked up at him, her eyes still drowsy with sleep, and he dragged her out into the night.