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cracking marble
act two, winter
chapter seven, love can conquer all

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(       novembre , 1831      )

        THE NIGHT PASSED in a dreamless sleep, before it was rudely pierced by the morning light. Mathilde found herself letting out a gasp as the daylight tore mercilessly through her tranquil room and she awoke with a start.

         "It's about time you were awake." Her mama muttered, with spite in her tone, from her place at the curtains.

        And just with a few words, any light that had entered the room from the open curtains was immediately oppressed by the dark presence of her mother.

        "Sleeping too heavily is very unladylike, Mathilde." She sighed, as though her daughter's presence had punched her in the stomach.

        "I can't help that." The blonde murmured, sitting up in her bed, giving a quiet yawn as she squinted her eyes trying to adjust to the light.

        "What was that?" The woman replied, bluntly, tucking the curtains away.

         "Nothing, Mama." Mathilde replied, lacing her tone a feigned note of happiness.

        The blonde reached a hand to face, as she gazed around her room and was unsurprised that it — and not to mention the rest of the house — sounded as empty as always.

        "Where are Combeferre and Amélie?" She asked, immediately detecting the absence of her siblings.

        "Combeferre is at work," Her mama explained as though the answer was glaringly obvious. "And Amélie is reading at the library with Professor Braun and the Roche children."

        Mathilde snorted a little in laughter but suppressed it in a cough, "A likely story."

        "Mathilde, do stop mumbling." The woman snapped, making the hairs on the blonde's skin stand on end. "You know how I hate the mumbling."

         "Yes, Mama." She replied instantly, her gaze shifting to the floor.

       With the statement, Mathilde sat up straighter and pulled back her covers, swinging her legs around so that she was perched on the edge of her bed.

       Unbeknownst to her, however, her night gown had hitched and she was now revealing her injured ankle to her mother.

        "Goodness, what in heavens name have you done to your ankle?!" The woman shrieked, causing the blonde to wince slightly at the sudden increase in volume.

       Mathilde froze like a deer in headlights as her mind raced to think of an explanation; if her mama found out the truth she doubted that she'd ever see daylight again.

         "I slipped on the stairs yesterday afternoon to answer the door," The blonde lied smoothly, after a few moments of thought, pulling her nightgown down to cover the injury. "Noëlie wrapped it up for me."

        "Honestly Mathilde, your behaviour is disgraceful." Her mother shook her head, looking at her daughter with a look of upmost disappointment.

        "I know, I know." She sighed, tiredly, finally rising to her feet, as her mama moved to the door.

        Mathilde glanced out of the window, seeing that the streets held quite a bit of light, meaning that morning must have been well underway.

        "What's the hour, Mama?" The blonde asked, pulling her hair out of the braid she'd slept in.

        "It's nearly ten o'clock." She replied as she exited the room, beckoning her daughter to follow as she continued speaking. "I'm going to church at noon. Don't expect me home until at least four o'clock."

        "I think I might visit the book shop later today—"

       "Not in this state, you shan't."

       Any attempt Mathilde had made at trying to find common ground with her mother was quickly derailed as the woman turned on her heel and silenced her.

        "I don't want any aspersions of my name being cast."

        "But—"

        "Mathilde, you're tiresome."

        The woman let out a light groan as she pressed a hand to her forehead, walking back over to her daughter with a sigh.

        "Look at you, as clumsy as clodpole, yet to learn the ways of bourgeoisie." Her mother addressed her with a light melody to her voice. "You know why we value reputation."

       "Mama—"

       "That's right, so you can marry well dear."

        Mathilde fought every urge to grimace at her mother's words as the woman passed her and re-entered the room.

        "Guess I always knew your ways were reckless." She muttered, straightening the curtains in their holsters. "Knew you'd be led astray, but who'd have guessed? Of the extent ... that they went."

       The woman let out another tired sigh as she turned on her heel and sent a knowing look to her daughter who still stood in the doorway.

       "At least, mother knows best."

       A smile appeared on her mother's features as she spoke those three words that apparently brought great comfort to her.

        "Mother knows best, listen to your mother. It's true you are a hopeless case." She went on as she walked around Mathilde's room, mindlessly tidying and straightening books and ornaments. "Sloppy, immature, dresses like her brother. At least you have your pretty face."

        Mathilde didn't bother hiding her tired sigh as she stepped back into the room as her persisted with dressing her down.

       "Gullible, naïve, quite simply unruly, ditzy and a bit — well — vague." The woman went on as the blonde sat in silence, her jaw clenching tighter with every word. "You'll be in luck to find somebody, truly. I only say it to remind you!"

       The woman walked over to where Mathilde had sat back down upon her bed, and placed a hand on her cheek as she looked her over with a disappointed sigh.

       "I'll never understand just where I went wrong with you, but all I have is one request." The woman told her daughter, who was desperately trying not to flinch under her touch. "Don't forget it, you'll regret it. Mother knows best."

A helpless sigh left Mathilde as her mother removed her hand from her face.

"You shall remain here today." She stated simply, before adding with utmost severity. "And if you know what's good for you, you shall obey me."

Mathilde pressed her lips together and spared her mother a small nod, averting her gaze away from her.

"Yes Mama."

***

DING! THE DUSTY OLD BELL in the corner of the library rang with a loud clatter of metal on metal, signifying a presence waiting outside the front door.

Mathilde put down her book and looked tiredly at Noëlie, who had been fixing the fire with a poker, with a small smile.

"Noëlie, would you mind answering the door?"

"Of course, Mademoiselle." She heeded with a small curtesy, before leaving the room.

"Thank you." Mathilde replied with a small roll of her eyes; it was her thinking that Noëlie need not to treat her like royalty considering she was plotting the downfall of it.

The blonde arose from her seat and smoothed out her dress, peering out the window where she couldn't quite see who it was waiting at the door.

"Mademoiselle?"

She turned at the sound Noëlie, who had returned from the door, and now stood in the threshold of the door.

"There's a gentleman here to see you."

Mathilde's hazel eyes widened as she tried to catch her breath, convincing herself that her heart may have stopped for a second.

"Dear God, no." She muttered, a little angrily, as she followed Noëlie out of the room.

Antoine had taken this too far; following her to her address and invading her privacy, when he knew full-well she had as much interest in him as she did in the upkeep of the monarchy.

"If it's Monsieur Antoine," Mathilde began as the duo turned around the corner, approaching the door. "You can tell him that if he doesn't leave I will kick him so far up the backside that—"

But her words fell short in the presence of what she saw; at the door was not Monsieur Antoine, but instead the person who had been there just over twelve hours ago.

"A Monsieur Enjolras to see you Mademoiselle?" The maid told Mathilde, as she suppressed a humoured smile.

Enjolras greeted the blonde with a small nod and seemed to be also — much like the maid — suppressing a chuckle, no doubt from the loud rant that had echoed through the corridor moments before.

"We've been over this," Mathilde turned to girl beside her, in attempt to compose herself in front of the man. "It's just Mathilde to you."

"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle—" Noëlie began, but a raise of the blonde's eyebrows was enough to make her rethink her words. "Mathilde."

Mathilde gave a smile before turning back to Enjolras, who looked more agitated than she'd seen him before.

"If you'll excuse us, Noëlie?" She asked, although she found it hard to tear her gaze away from Enjolras' as she said so.

"Of course." Noëlie responded and, out of the corner of her eye, Mathilde swore she could see the maid smirking.

Enjolras was dressed in a red jacket as always. She thought the bags under his eyes were a little less noticeable, and maybe he had taken her advice after all.

"To what do I owe such a unforeseen pleasure, M'sieur?" Mathilde smirked, taking a step closer to the door.

"Good day, Mathilde." He replied, bowing his head slightly politely, "I saw your mother leave so I suppose we are all clear to enter?"

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, she made to speak but no noise came out, as Enjolras flashed her a quick smile before looking either side of him.

"What's going on—?"

"Alright, gentlemen!" Enjolras called down the street, "We're clear!"

A whooping laughter sounded from behind one of the bushes in the front garden and soon emerged a gleeful Courfeyrac with Gavroche perched high on his shoulders wearing a cheeky grin.

Similarly, one by one, members of Les Amis began appearing from hiding spots along the street, the blonde clasped her hands to her mouth to conceal her laughter and they approached the front door.

She looked at Enjolras, with disbelief, to find his gaze fixed on her, with a faint smile etched upon his marble features.

"Here you are, Mathilde."

The blonde looked back in front of her to find Jehan, his cheeks rosier than usual, presenting her with a small bouquet of wild flowers; purple and white, which she took gratefully.

   "Thank you, Jehan-"

"Is the sitting room this way?" Enjolras asked, taking a step into the house, to which she answered with an automatic nod.

"Yes, but Enjolras—!" The blonde cried, following him quickly into the hallway, as the rest of the boys stepped past the threshold, "What is going on?"

"Well," He said, in a manner as though the answer to her question was obvious. "You couldn't go the meeting so we brought the meeting to you."

And he'd done it again; shocked her to the core.

"Thank you." She breathed, just loud enough for him to hear.

He replied with a small smile, and a knowing nod, before resuming his pace and leading the fellow men into the sitting room.

The men congregated; taking seats on the armchairs, chaise longues, as Gavroche and Amélie ran around the room, pulling open the drapes to light it up.

"Well, it's a change of scenery," A voice said from behind where Mathilde stood as she felt Grantaire's arm wrap around her. "But I'm sure I'll warm to it very quickly."

He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, earning himself an eye roll, before turning to her older brother who was collecting pieces of parchment from the old writing desk at the opposite end of the room.

"Where do you keep your wine, Combeferre?"

Stifling a chuckle at the drunk's antics, Mathilde felt her gaze drift back to the man in red, who was holding up Gavroche so that he could tuck the drapes into the holders.

"You didn't do this for me?" She asked, as he lowered the boy down the ground and he scampered off looking for his playmate.

"For who else would I do it for?" He evaded the question, playfully, with a slight furrow of his brow.

The blonde made to respond when a flicker of light caught her eye, turning fully, she saw Joly holding up a match to a fresh cigar.

"Ah, no!" She cried at the doctor, apologetically, as he lowered the match. "I'm sorry, boys. But you can't smoke in here, Mama isn't that oblivious."

"She's right." Combeferre added, appearing at her shoulder, looking at Lesgle and Feuilly who were similarly holding cigars in their hands. "Give."

Her brother motioned and the various handed over the cigars as Joly blew out his match.

"Alright boys, take your seats." Courfeyrac declared as he hoisted Gavroche onto his lap where he sat on an armchair.

"We may need a few more." Combeferre muttered, looking around to see a few men standing still.

"Lesgle?" Mathilde called, looking at the man with the worst luck imaginable, "Could you go with Combeferre and fetch some more chairs from the dining room?"

"Of course," He answered, readjusting his hat on his head, and following her brother out of the room, as chatter flooded the sitting room once more.

But, as loud as the atmosphere appeared to be, it would never be loud enough for Mathilde not to notice the missing presence of one Apollo.

"Where's Enjolras gone?" She asked Marius, who was positioned on her right.

Once she'd asked the boy, his eyes darted around the room as hers had done, before answering.

"He's probably gone venturing," He muttered, with an affirmative nod, "I'll go looking for him."

"Nonsense, I'll go." She cut him off, abruptly, blocking his path to the doorway, before dismissing the suspicious look he gave for. "I know the house anyway."

       And with that remark, Mathilde raced down the hall to the one room she knew would catch her eye, if she were to enter an unknown household, and sure enough, there he stood.

       Her Papa's library had always seemed so empty despite the amount of books that lay upon its shelves, and yet with Enjolras in the room; it was the opposite.

         "Quite an extensive collection you have here." The man in red remarked before the girl could even step through the doorway.

         "My father's." She answered, humbly, as his hands skimmed the ancient books, "I haven't read half of it."

         Mathilde found her feet carrying her towards Enjolras, as though by some sort of magnetic attraction.

         "I don't believe you were invited in here, M'sieur." She turned to him, in feigned violation.

         "Yes, I apologise." He muttered quickly, his gaze darting to the floor, seemingly believing her façade.

        "I kid you." She chuckled, touching his arm lightly, causing him to bolt upright and give her a small smile. "Were you looking for something?"

         "No, no." He confessed, withdrawing his hand from the shelf, his gaze looking over the rest of the library. "I was just curious."

        He took a few careful paces forward; the blonde couldn't tear her gaze from him.

        Enjolras was stood by the chair where she resided some ten minutes earlier, looking upon the book she'd placed facedown on the table.

         "Is this what you are reading currently?" He asked, picking up the book and glancing at the title, "A little tragic, is it not?"

        "A little tragedy never hurt anybody." Mathilde responded with a small shrug, wrapping her arms around herself as she approached him once more, "Have you read it?"

         "Yes, I have." Enjolras answered her, his eyes not leaving the page which she could only presume was the prologue.

        "Two households, both alike in dignity," She recited, with a small smirk as she made her way across the room. "In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean."

         The corners of Enjolras' lips twitched for a mere second as she perched on the arm of the armchair next to him; his eyes turned their focus to the blonde girl at his side.

         "Beautifully written." He remarked, closing the book.

         "Isn't all of his material?" She countered, with a small smirk of my own.

         "I suppose so." Enjolras conceded, with a shrug, "But there's a beautiful message behind it, don't you think?"

         "And what message is that?" The blonde tilted her head to the side a little to see him a little clearer.

         "That love can conquer all." He answered, looking her dead in the eye as he passed the book back to her.

        Mathilde's lips curved into a small smile as she let out a light laugh, her cheeks flushing pink as she looked to the ground.

       "Do you believe that, Enjolras?" She asked, with a bit more gumption as she placed the book back on the table and rose to her feet.

         "Not at the moment." The marble man answered her, squaring his jaw, "But I could be persuaded."

         The blonde girl couldn't quite fight the small smile that crept onto her face, as she nervously pushed a piece of hair out of her face.

         "Do you believe it, Mathilde?" Enjolras quirked an eyebrow, a smile reminiscent on his lips also.

         "That I do." She answered confidently, with a small smirk.

         Only then did it occur to her just how close she and Enjolras had moved toward one another within the last few seconds; there couldn't be more than ten inches between them.

        Suddenly flustered by their current positioning, Mathilde took a nervous step backwards, her gaze fixed on the doorway.

         "Come now," She started, glancing briefly at Enjolras. "The boys will be waiting."

***

         "ALRIGHT."

          Enjolras cleared his throat as they reentered the sitting room and Mathilde took a seat on the chaise longue beside Bahorel.

           "A slight change of events and scenery for today's meeting - thank you again Combeferre and Mathilde for your house."

          "You didn't actually ask me-?"

          "Moving on." Enjolras cut Combeferre off, earning a soft chuckle from his sister. "Marius has spoken with me and has said he would like to lead the meeting this morning on another topic relevant to the revolution."

        Mathilde found her eyebrows furrowing as she shared a confused look with Bahorel; was Enjolras in right mind? Letting Marius, of all people, lead a meeting? Marius.

          "Marius?" Enjolras nodded at the boy, standing to the side, making room for him to stand in front of the congregation.

         "Thank you, Enjolras." Marius smiled, faintly, as he rose to his feet.

         "Are you ill?" Joly asked Enjolras, noticing his uncharacteristic actions and earning a ripple of laughter from the group.

         "I must be." The leader in red muttered in response.

          "Just to let you, before you begin," Combeferre began, looking sternly at Marius, "If you mention Napoleon, you're being evicted."

         The smile of Marius' face fell as he shuffled through his notes and withdrew several pieces of parchment before crumpling them up and shoving them in his pocket.

         A uproar of complaint then exploded from Marius' spectators.

         "Are you kidding me?"

         "Seriously?"

         "Pontmercy, you heathen!"

         "Alright! Alright! No Napoleon." Marius cried, silencing the group before beginning his declaration.

          Mathilde sneaked a quick look at Enjolras, who looked as though he deeply regretted his decision to allow Marius to lead the meeting, although she could only chuckle as he winced at Marius' words every now and then.

         Although part of her was against the idea of Marius taking the meeting — for Enjolras' sake — Mathilde couldn't deny that his message was very agreeable.

        The Pontmercy boy focused on the aftermath of the revolution, he raised the question; what if we fail?

         Enjolras nearly intervened before he explained himself.

          "Without causing commotion," Marius declared, silencing the room, "We all know failure is possible. Therefore, we need to have an impact on the younger generation."

         "You mean children?" Jehan asked, with a furrowed brow.

         "Yes!" Marius cried, "Listen, the children are the future of France. If we instil our beliefs in them now, if our revolution were to fail, another one would follow and so on!"

         "But the children need to learn." The blonde cut in, "Marius, you forget that our influence doesn't stretch to the walls of the affluent, and the children who would revolt have no hope of education or accessing the skills they'll one day need to fight for Patria."

        Without consciously acknowledging it, Mathilde found herself on her feet facing off against Marius, oblivious to all the eyes fixed on her.

         "They are the future of France, as you say," She credited him, "But they need to be taught how to read and write, and arithmetic and geography and the rich history of the land they live in -" She took in a long breath, preparing to rest her case, "Someone needs to teach them."

         She looked hopelessly at Marius, while his pitch had good intentions, it seemed unrealistic, how could the future of France be uneducated?

         "What about you?" Jehan asked, cutting through the silence like a hot knife through butter.

         It took the girl a second before she realised he was looking at her.

         "Me?" She asked, furrowing her eyebrows, "Teach them?"

        Jehan nodded firmly, looking at everyone else around the room, who gave murmurs of assent and agreement.

         "But I-I am hardly qualified," She retorted, nervously, "And I'd be terrible-!"

         "You'd be phenomenal."

        The girl's attention flew to her left to see that Enjolras had spoken, silencing the room once more as his gaze sat stubbornly on her.

          "Do you really think so?" She asked, in almost disbelief.

          "I do." He replied, taking a step closer to her, seemingly unaware that they were in the presence of quite a few people — one of whom was the girl'a brother. "There is no one better to teach the future generation about the land they will one day call their own."

         A blush ran up Mathilde's cheeks as she looked down to the floor in order to mask it from his view.

         "I have utmost faith in you." Enjolras added, looking at her, with a look she did not recognise.

         His eyes were soft as sand instead of holding their normal coolness; hard as rock.

        "Alright." She conceded, with a small nod, turning back to the group. "I can be a teacher."

         "Yes, you can." Enjolras agreed, with a knowing smile as he swapped places with Marius who returned to his seat, "And you will."

        "Amélie?" Courfeyrac called to the young girl, who was hiding behind a pair of drapes, "Would you and Gavroche spread the word?"

         The small girl gave an excited nod before running out the room, soon to be followed by a boy with a messy mop of golden hair on his little head.

***

         DUSK HAD FALLEN; the meeting with the boys was some hours and the later hours of the night were fast approaching.

         Her Mama was unaware of the events of that day, thankfully, and everyone member of her family was in their own quarters preparing for sleep.

         All that lit Mathilde's room was an oil lamp that illuminated the walls just enough for her to read the ink printed on the pages in front of her.

        A soft knock sounded at her door, she looked up but before she could make a sound, the red-haired head of Noëlie peeped around the corner of the door.

        "Mathilde, may I come in?" She asked, hesitantly.

        "Of course, Noëlie." The blonde beckoned, closing her book and sitting straight up in her bed as the maid entered the room with a bundle of laundry in her arms. "Good evening."

        "Good evening," She replied with a small smile, "I brought you some clean clothes, and Gigi and I managed to get that stain out of your petticoat."

         "You work wonders, dear Noëlie." Mathilde smiled, graciously at her, standing up to collect the bundle from her and place its contents in various drawers.

         "Mademoiselle?" Noëlie asked, a slight nervous tone in her voice, the blonde turned and quirked an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to correct herself, "Mathilde?"

         "Yes?" She replied, content with the amendments.

         "Might I ask you a question?" The maid queried, fidgeting with her hands, anxiously.

         "Why, of course." Mathilde smiled, tenderly, walking back over to her bed where she sat down and immediately patted a spot next to her. "Sit yourself down, and ask away."

         Noëlie followed the instruction and delicately placed herself on the bed next to Mathilde. The blonde offered her a warm smile to put her nerves at ease. The girl took a deep breath before asking;

        "Who was the man I answered the door to this afternoon?"

         Mathilde's smile faltered a little, as a small blush ran up her cheeks as it had done so much that day.

         "Strange." She remarked, looking down at her hands where she was picking at her fingernails, before attempting to evade the subject. "I thought you would have asked why my brother and I played host to well over ten guests?"

         "Without seeming forward, Mathilde." Noëlie cut in, quickly, easily spotting the girl's façade, "You seem to be avoiding my question."

        The blonde looked up at her with a sense of pride, at last she was talking to her like she was a real person, Mathilde breathed out a large sigh of relief.

         "Why did you wish to know?" She asked, crossing her legs.

         "You seem very taken with him." She answered, confidently, "Well, I can only assume so, I've never seen you act like you did in his presence." She continued with a small shrug, "So naturally I'm intrigued."

        Her eyes landed on Mathilde's expressionless face as she took in her words; however she took the blonde's lack of expression to mean disapproval.

         "I apologise if I've overstepped my boundaries." She uttered quickly, looking down at the floor, most likely expecting a harsh retort.

        "No, don't be silly." Mathilde dismissed her worries, a nervous smile spreading over her face, "You have a right to be curious. But understand that I tell you this in confidence, I don't want this being fed back to Gigi or cook or worst of all, Mama— I fear she would have my head."

          "I swear on my life, Mademoiselle." Noëlie promised, a look of sincerity in her eyes.

         "Well then." Mathilde smirked, content with the circumstances, "The man you answered the door to earlier today was Enjolras."

         The blonde's lips twitched just saying his name, it was as though the sound of his name cast its own tantalising spell over her mood.

         "He is a friend of Combeferre's," She went on, tucking a piece of hair back into one of her braids, "And I've been seeing him quite frequently over the past few weeks and become fairly ... fond of him."

           Noëlie wore a wide smile, "Does Monsieur Enjolras return your fondness?"

          "I can't say I know, Noëlie." Mathilde answered, honestly, with a hopeless sigh, "He's notoriously difficult to read."

         "But he must feel something, surely." Noëlie encouraged, "I wouldn't expect you to involve yourself in situation that is completely hopeless."

        What she said made some sense and the blonde knew she was right. If she saw no future with Enjolras, she would have removed herself from the situation instantaneously — and yet she hadn't.

          "I think he likes me." Mathilde blurted, unaware of how arrogant she sounded, "He could." She added hastily in attempt to regain some modesty.

         "Well, if he doesn't he's a mad man." Noëlie retorted, her true character showing.

         "Thank you Noëlie, you're a true friend." The blonde smiled at the girl, who she was very glad to be talking to at that moment in time.

         "Again, if you don't mind me asking?" She cut in, "Why do you believe that your mother would disapprove of any romantic relationship between Monsieur Enjolras and yourself?"

        The blonde almost let out a derisive laugh. Off the top of her head, she couldn't name one quality of Enjolras' that her Mama would approve aside from the fact that he was born into wealth — which he, himself, resented.

         "I believe he's too ... political for her liking." She settled the question, carefully choosing her words.

        Noëlie let out a long withheld breath before turning back to her with a giddy smile.

        "This is all very exciting." She added, as she rise from her seat and began edging her way towards the door.

         "Oh?" Mathilde acknowledged. Exciting was hardly the word that she would use to describe hr situation.

         "It's like a forbidden love!" Noëlie whisper-cried, excitedly, "Like your Romeo and Juliet, no?"

         "It could be." The blonde chuckled, just as Noëlie exited the room and left her to herself once more, sat in the meek lamplight, muttering. "If his pride wasn't so blinding."

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