A Promise

Chapter Nine

        I stared at Enjolras in disbelief. "Live with you?" I repeated, unsure if I had heard him correctly. "Monsieur, I could not do that. You have already done so much for me. I couldn't possibly intrude upon your home."

        "You wouldn't be intruding!" Enjolras protested. "I would be honored to have you as my guest. My mother sends me more than enough money to provide for the needs of both of us, and this house has ample enough room for the two of us."

        "I'm not a charity case, Monsieur. Please, I cannot accept your offer," I told him, although deep down, I felt pleased. If he was seriously offering me to stay at his house, then that meant... he cared about me.  Strange. I'd never been cared about before.

        "Fine, you don't want to be a charity case? That's okay with me. Then how about I offer you a job?" he suggested.

        I almost laughed until I looked into his deep, thoughtful eyes and realized he was serious. "A job, Monsieur?" I said skeptically. "What kind of job could a man like you offer a girl like me?"

        "You can help with the revolution," Enjolras said simply. "I want you to be the spokesperson for the poor."

        I stared at him. "What do you mean by that?" I asked.

        Enjolras smiled. The look in his eyes told me that he had a brilliant idea. "Listen, Ep, you've had a hard life, there is no denying it. Poverty stole away your childhood and your innocence. That's a sad thing. If you tell people your story, if you describe the hunger that you felt when you went for days without eating, or the cold winters you lived through without a coat or shoes, then maybe the bourgeoisie will listen and feel pity for the poor. Maybe we can collect more support out of their sympathy. Also, you can connect with the poor, help me reach their hearts. With your help, the people of France will rise up!"

        I took in what he had just said. Me, a spokesperson for the poor? It didn't seem like a realistic goal. I had never so much as given a speech before in my life. Still, the prospect was intriguing. This was an opportunity to not just help a few people, but to make a difference in all of France. Was I capable of such a task? Probably not. But I was Eponine Thenardier, and that meant I had to try. "So if I do this, then you'll let me stay at your house?" I asked.

        "You're always welcome to stay at my house," Enjolras said, "But if you don't want to be a charity case, then yes. Staying at my house will be your payment for your services in this revolution."

        I smiled. "Then it's a deal," I said.

        "Good," Enjolras replied, clapping his hands together. "Now that that's settled, it's time for you to meet Les Amis."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

        I nervously sat at a small table in the corner of the Cafe Musain as Enjolras prepared for the meeting. Les Amis would be here any minute, and I was anxious to make a good impression on them. How would they react to having an ex-thief as a member of their company? Not well, I imagined. What if they completely rejected me? If they did, I would not blame them.

        "They'll be here very soon," Enjolras announced to me. I smiled and tried to look excited, but Enjolras could see past my mask. "Don't be nervous," he said reassuringly. "They will all love you, I promise."

        "Thank you for this opportunity, Enjolras,"  I said gratefully. "I truly appreciate everything you've done for me."

        "Don't mention it," Enjolras said. Then, the door of the Cafe swung open. "They're here."

        Three men walked into the room. The first one had dark, messy curls and a rather goofy grin on kind face. He looked about eighteen. The second was muscular and well-built, with straight, caramel hair and piercing green eyes. His gaze was calculating, although not as perceptive as Enjolras' was. He seemed mature for his age, which I estimated to be about twenty-one. The third man was very thin, with a few strands of brown hair covering his partially bald head. He had a kind but careless smile. His long limbs seemed slightly out-of-sync with the rest of his body, which gave him a rather bumbling appearance. He was the oldest of the three, around twenty-five.

        "Eponine, this is Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Lesgle," Enjolras said. "Boys, this is Eponine. She is going to help us communicate to France a firsthand account of the tragic struggles of the poor." I shook hands with all three of them. They seemed very amiable. I could tell we would become friends. The door opened again, and five other students walked in. One of them was Marius. I could smell the faint scent of perfume on his coat, so I was able to deduce that he had just been with Cosette. He seemed surprised to see me, but Enjolras introduced me to all the newcomers and explained exactly what I was doing there. Meanwhile, I tried to learn the names of the four other students: Prouvaire, Feuilly, Jehan, and Bahorel. All of them seemed so kind and welcoming, which was strange and foreign to me since I had spent all my life around greedy, selfish people.

        The door opened again, and this time, a beaming couple entered the room. The man was tall with wise, blue eyes and a bright white smile. He wore gloves on his hands and kept a handkerchief in his pocket. The woman was rather short with long, black hair that curled at the ends. She wore a simple blue dress and was smiling from ear to ear.

        "Joly, 'Chetta, this is Eponine," Enjolras said as I shook their hands. "She'll be speaking to the people of France about the terrible conditions the poor live in. Eponine, this is Joly and his mistress, Musichetta."

        "Mistress? You're wrong about that, Enjolras," Joly said with a large smile. "'Chetta and I have a big announcement. We are engaged to be married!"

        Les Amis clapped and cheered. Some of the men clapped Joly on the back. After the celebration died down, Enjolras formally congratulated the happy couple and commenced the meeting.

        "My friends," he began, "I have been thinking. What is our ultimate goal that we wish to achieve through this revolution?"

        "To help the poor rise above the restraints of their class." Combeferre suggested.

        "Precisely," Enjolras said. "We say we want to help the poor, and yet we go outside each day and do nothing more than throw spare change at them. If we really want to help them, these speeches, this revolution, isn't enough. We need to reach out to them, show compassion for them. We need to give them more than just a franc or two. If we give them all we can, we will not only help them, but we will also gain their support." Enjolras looked over at me and I nodded in encouragement. "My friend Eponine helped me to understand this concept," Enjolras added, "And I thank her for that."

        I smiled at him, and he smiled back. I found myself almost melting under his gaze. I was so enraptured by the wisdom and beauty behind his eyes that I almost didn't notice the door swing open again. Enjolras did, however, and his expression changed to frustration and annoyance. "Grantaire," he said, without looking up. "You're late... again." I turned to see the newcomer, and my blood ran cold.

        His dark hair was a dirty, bushy mess that seemed to grow in all directions. There were dark bags underneath his bloodshot eyes. He would have been handsome, but he didn't seem to care at all about his appearance and had let himself go. His shirt was wrinkled and stained with alcohol, and his pants were torn and frayed in places. He reeked of alcohol, and, sure enough, he carried a half-empty bottled of liquor in his hand. It wasn't his haggard appearance that sent a shiver down my spine, however. It was the fact that I knew him. After all this time, I still recognized him. And judging from the cold expression on his face, he recognized me too.