We walked side by side. He wanted to walk very quickly but I didn’t because I wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance to walk with him again. I listened to his footsteps and his breathing. He swung his hands as he walked and I thought of Monsieur and Madame Lefevre, back in Montfermeil, always holding hands.
“I’ve been looking for you a long time,” I whispered. “Six months.”
“What?” He looked shocked. “Six months?”
“Maybe five. A long time, anyway.”
“Why?”
“In prison, I made a promise to myself—to be kind, where I could. I thought you would be happier if you knew where Cosette lived. So I had to find you.”
He smiled in disbelief. “But you hardly know me. And how did you find me? Where did you look?”
“I asked people. I went to the Gorbeau. I’d seen you in the Jardins du Luxembourg so I went there too. The Café Musain, of course.”
“The Musain? You went there? It’s men only.”
“I know. A friend of yours wouldn’t let me inside. His name was Enjolras and he told me to tell you me that they’re making plans and need you back.” I glanced across. “What plans?”
He pressed his lips together for a moment. “Enjolras wants a fairer France as we all do. The rich are so wealthy that their ceilings are gold-painted and yet the poor are so poor they’re eating dirt in the street—how’s that fair? How can we have a king with diamonds and rubies and his huge, powdered wig, when people don’t have bread?” He shook his head. “Our country needs changing. Lamarque will change it. We’ll fight the king’s armies in the street until they’re defeated and Lamarque can take over, and make France a republic again.”
I felt uneasy. “You’ll fight? In the street? But the armies have cannons and muskets …”
“We’ve got muskets too. And we will build barricades to protect us.”
“But what if you’re wounded? You might die!”
“Some will die, I’m sure of it. There are always deaths, in a war. But, Eponine, shall I tell you the truth? Last summer, I’d have fought a thousand wars for France. I told you, didn’t I? That I was patriotic?”
“And now?”
He sighed. “Now … well, I still love France. The revolution must happen, Eponine, I still believe in that! But now that I know what love is … How could I risk my life? Now that I know Cosette exists?”
I looked away. He won’t fight or die. That was a comfort, at least.
* * *
We walked in silence the rest of the way. But in my head there were so many words turning over and over that I couldn’t be sure which words to take out and whisper to him. I wanted to tell him how often I’d followed him. How Paris seemed so much better once I knew he was in it. I wanted to tell him about the Lefevres, as alike as their chimneys. And I wanted to say, Someone tried to kiss me and I pretended it was you but I just felt sad. I wished it was you.
But I didn’t say these things. Of course not.
“Here we are.”
“This is it? Where she lives?” He walked toward the gate and shook it. “It’s locked—locked! How can I get to her?”
“We wait.”
“Wait?”
“She walks in the garden every evening.”
“What time?”
“Early. As the birds are roosting.”
“How long must we wait, then? Five hours? Six?”
His impatience hurt me and I felt my lip tremble. How I wish it was me he wanted to see. But I managed to smile. “Maybe. But we can sit in this elm tree and rest …”
He paused, looked up. “That’s the tree you sleep in?”
“Yes. My little home.”
He half smiled. “It’s a good tree. But I’ll stand beneath it, I think, because I don’t want to tear my clothes on it or make them dirty …”
He wanted to look smart for her. I ached—but I understood.
I climbed into the branches and looked down on his thick, soft hair. And we waited for her, Marius and I. The hours passed, and I knew those hours were my only chance to share my heart with him. If I was ever going to tell Marius that I loved him and that he’d changed my whole world, then it was now, as I sat in the tree. But he loves Cosette. What good would it do? I kept my heart to myself.
I liked being high in the branches. I felt safe, as if the tree was cradling me and saying, Don’t be sad, Eponine. Poor thing … But also, I felt like I could protect him. No harm could come to him—no guns or soldiers or cholera—if I was looking down on him like the stars look down on all of us.
* * *
After awhile, those stars came out.
Marius glanced up. “It’s getting dark. The birds are roosting, Eponine. Will she come now?”
We both heard the sound. It was the shush … shush … of skirts and it came nearer.
He moved forward and took hold of the iron gates again. I saw her through the branches and she looked more beautiful than ever. Her dress was powder-blue and her hair had ribbons in it and she carried a fan, its fine strap looped over one wrist.
“Cosette!” he called out.
She jumped. She dropped the fan and didn’t pick it up again. Instead, she pressed her hands to her mouth and stared at him. “Can it be … ?”
“It is your name? Cosette?”
“It is! And what’s yours?
“Marius.”
She came closer. “Marius …”
“For so long, you’re all I’ve thought about.”
“And all I’ve thought about,” she whispered, “is you.”
* * *
Long, long ago I was walking near the church in Montfermeil. It must have been midsummer because the air was thick with heat and the sun was so bright I was squinting and as I paused, a butterfly—white with orange tips—settled on my arm. I was so amazed by this little thing of beauty that I could hardly breathe because what if my breathing disturbed it, and it flew away? I didn’t even blink because it was so beautiful.
They were like that.
Cosette unlocked the gate and let him in. In the garden, they looked at each other and gently took each other’s hands.
I stayed in the shadows. This was their moment, not mine. As I watched them, a tear rolled down my cheek, and then another.
Without taking their eyes off each other, they walked toward the house and stepped inside.
* * *
Yes, a person can change. It can happen with the smallest of things—and I might have had a good heart, but I still felt so sad that I thought my body would break with it. He was gone. He was hers. All those dreams I’d had—what good were they now?
But you’ve brought him happiness, Eponine; he is happy because of you—and that was my only comfort as I cried and cried, feeling so lonely, in my house of leaves.