ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER EIGHT

ACT TWO.

❝ and when the night has finally gone,
and when we see the new day dawn,
we'll wonder how we wandered
for so long, so blind. ❞

___

Claudine had sworn never to set foot in the Musain Café, especially since there were so many people there, and she did not at all like the prospect of having to guard her secret from anyone else - but when Enjolras had awkwardly extended an invitation to her, she simply couldn't resist. 

She did not regret her decision as much as she thought she would. She was content with sitting in the corner of the café with Éponine, quietly listening to the boys' elaborate conversations and lively banter. By doing so, she was able to grasp the essentials of the ideals they stood up for. She strung together the bits and pieces of words she could comprehend, and understood, now more than ever, why they wanted a revolution. 

She also realized, with faint amusement, that all of them had distinct personalities, and started seeing them as individuals instead of a whole. The sandy-haired one had a staggeringly horrible fashion sense, the red-haired one was obsessed with checking his tongue in the mirror, and the muscled one was always on his feet, unable to keep still. It was amazing to see how such a diverse array of men could fit together so perfectly, how well they complemented each other, how they made up for what each other was lacking. 

She was mostly left alone, save for the few curious glances they cast her way. Feuilly acknowledged her once or twice, but did not approach her to inquire about her presence. Enjolras rarely glanced over at her, but when he did, his movements stilled for a short while, and something in his eyes shifted - like he was going to smile, but was physically incapable of doing so.

Perhaps if she smiled, he would too.

The next time he looked in her direction, she grinned at him. The only response she elicited from him was a slow, slightly surprised blink.  

Abashed, she shrunk back into her seat. The bespectacled boy standing beside him frowned.

Then he walked towards her, a disgruntled Enjolras in tow.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and calm. "Good day, mademoiselle. I've seen your face before, but I don't believe I know your name. My name is Combeferre."

Claudine stared up at him wordlessly. Apprehension always clutched at her insides when she met new people - trust didn't come naturally to her, especially since her true identity as a gypsy was loathed by society. Of course, the fact that she couldn't lie was very inconvenient - she couldn't trust herself not to reveal it.

Combeferre nudged Enjolras with his shoulder. "Perhaps you could introduce her to me."

Enjolras cleared his throat. "Her name is Claudine."

Combeferre raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips quirking up. "That's all you have to say?"

"Yes."

The three of them were plunged into an awkward silence. For someone who could speak so well, Enjolras certainly could not hold a conversation. 

"Please forgive my friend," Combeferre said gently, bowing his head. "He is not well-versed in the art of talking to women-"

"-As he has none in his life," someone else interrupted cheerfully. Claudine turned to see another man with wild black curls and rosy cheeks, casually seated on the table. "I'm Courfeyrac. Nice to meet you, mademoiselle. Perhaps you could talk to me instead - I, unlike the Chief, have plenty of women in my life, which explains why I-"

"Get your derrière off my papers, Courfeyrac," Enjolras snapped. 

"You have no idea how many girls would be jealous of them right now," Courfeyrac replied brightly, sliding off the table onto his feet.

Enjolras ignored him and addressed Combeferre. "I will need to borrow Joly's disinfectant for my papers later."

Claudine couldn't help it. A bubble of laughter burst forth from her mouth, and she clapped her hands over it, astonished at herself.

Combeferre smiled warmly while Courfeyrac threw his head back and chortled. "Why are you so surprised at your own laughter, mademoiselle? I suppose I must be very funny indeed. Don't you think so, Chief?"

Enjolras shot him a withering look. "No."

Perhaps it was how fed up Enjolras was. Perhaps it was Courfeyrac's feigned hurt. Perhaps it was Combeferre's wry grin. Whatever it was, it made Claudine laugh again.

This time, both Combeferre and Courfeyrac laughed along with her. She thought she saw the ghost of a smile cross Enjolras's lips when he returned to his work, but she couldn't be sure.

"The marble man," Combeferre told her quietly once their laughter had subsided.

"What?"

"They call him the marble man. Women have flung themselves at his feet, only to be coldly dismissed with a disdainful glance. He is immune to all kinds of lust and infatuation. He has turned whatever desires he might have had to a single, burning passion for creating a better world."

"I see. I wasn't planning on flinging myself at his feet."

Combeferre beamed at her like a proud father. "I guessed as much. I only told you that because I thought you would wonder why he appears so detached, even around his closest friends."

"Why do all of you call him 'chief', then? Doesn't that put more distance between him and the rest of you?"

"He is our leader, and rightfully so. He likes being in control and having authority."

But that doesn't explain why he's so eager to listen to the others' conversations, or why he occasionally opens his mouth to add on to what someone else says, but shuts it immediately, as if he's trying to live up to some kind of expectation, Claudine thought. 

Combeferre, seeming to have read her mind, shook his head. "He is an enigma. I've known him for five years, and I still have yet to figure him out."

Courfeyrac batted his eyelashes in a surprisingly realistic impression of a bourgeois lady. "Ooh, how mysterious! I find that alluring."

"I think not," Claudine replied bluntly, which made the others chuckle, but she meant it. She was too busy carrying the burden of her own life to make space for another.