Those Who Fall in Love. |Enjolras|

2. First Impressions of Paris

Paris, France
December, 1830

Marseille had long since passed, leaving only an imprint of the beautiful city in Lorraine's mind. The crystal clear waters of the coastal city had been gradually replaced as the landscape outside melted into flat farmland and pastures full of colorful fruits and vegetables. Days had come and gone. A new month had started. Villages, rich with their own culture and people, had slipped by, their names escaping her mind the moment the carriage left their borders. Lorraine's eyes hadn't left the window as they pulled away from Marseille, trying to focus on the blurry images that made up the countryside of France. She had never seen such sights before, and knew it would many years before she'd be able to see this part of the country again.

The sprawling landscape, dotted with small houses, slowly began to be taken up by larger houses. Towns turned to cities, farms into town squares. The city walls of Paris had appeared as small lines on the horizon, looking unassuming. As the carriage rattled and sped towards the metropolis, the walls grew bigger until they towered over Lorraine like large stone barricades, meant to protect the city from wicked outside forces. Her mouth fell open in awe as the walls cast their shadows onto the carriage as they passed underneath the gate. A few soldiers from the National Guard stood at attention, glaring at the passing farmer's carts and carriages as the entered the city. They sat in a long line, as the guards demanded papers and identification from each driver, passenger, and merchant that was hoping to venture into the city.

"Papers, mademoiselle." One of the men opened the carriage door, his face stone cold. He had an old face, his skin wrinkled around his eyes. He stuck his hand out, demanding that she pass over her papers.

"Of course." Lorraine scrambled through her bag next to her, pulling out two letters. She handed them to the man, and he huffed. He opened Roul's papers first, giving her a small nod, and handing her the paper back. He unfolded Lorraine's document, raising an eyebrow at her as he scanned it. "Miss Legrand." He stated, passing her paper back to her. "You are free to enter Paris."

"Thank you, monsieur." She nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. She took them, and put them back in her bag. The man slammed the door shut, ushering for Roul to move the carriage to move forward. They lurched forward, the walls starting to fall behind them.

The first few buildings around the walls were as ancient as the walls themselves. The stone structures were starting to crumble, their age showing after centuries. They were small, humble, and plain. Large families resided in them, the children running around wildly as the carts and carriages past. Remnants of the old walls scattered the city, buildings warping around them until they became completely integrated. Black, dark alleys were filled with people who had seemed to climb from the gutters, their faces dark and grimy. Children were attached to their mother's sides, their stomachs crying out. The bitter cold bit at their noses and limbs. They screamed in pain as the unlucky children started to pale, their lips cracked and blue. Mother's clutched onto their babies, cradling their children that were clothed in rags, swaddled in their mother's shawls. They sung soft songs to soothe them, the only thing they could do, their voices raspy.

The slums were filled with the poorest, least respected, saddest, citizens in all of Paris. While no citizens were rich here, disease was. Carts stacked high with bodies, flies swarming around them, travelled up and down the streets. Parents sobbed as they handed over their infants and children, before their bodies were thrown on top of the heap, and taken to be buried in a mass grave. Maggots and vermin flourished here, where good hygiene was impossible. The mood of the slums was grim, sullen, pessimistic. No one felt true happiness here.

However, in some cases, mere feet from the dark hell that plagued the city, was the middle and upper classes of Paris. Their houses were grand, with wrought iron fences that surrounded the properties. Lush green grass covered their front yards, croquet sets and lounge chairs littered their patios. Bourgeois ladies, in their finest winter petticoats and gloves, walked along the sidewalks, small umbrellas twirling in their hands. They chatted with each other, their laughter floating through the air like bells. They gave dirty glares as young poor children who were running around, cheering and whooping. The ladies feared not to venture into the streets passed a certain point, pulling their husbands, friends and suitors away from the poor streets of Paris, whining as the men teased them for their cowardice, but they too made no attempt to enter that part of the city.