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cracking marble
act one, autumn
chapter two, le café musain

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(       septembre , 1831      )

       THE FOLLOWING DAY, when the sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the house, Mathilde could feel her blood begin to boil in her veins.

        Their little morning had repeated itself once more with Amélie entering the library in order for her older sister to tie her shoelaces before running out of the house and join in on whatever escapade the other children outside were. As for her brother, Mathilde had not seen him since their altercation. She suspected he had snuck back into the house late the night before, and the sound of the door slamming had been the sound of his departure from the house once more; without a word said to her.

        Clenching her jaw, the blonde found herself rising to her feet and slamming the book — that once resided in her lap — shut, and placing it upon the table beside her. She moved towards to the library's window that looked out onto the street on which they lived and, sure enough, there was Combeferre exiting the front garden.

        The words he had used to silence her in their argument the previous suddenly came flooding back to her;

        "Truth is given by God to us all in our time, in our turn."

         Her nostrils flared as she exhaled sharply, and a idea began quickly forming in her mind that made her eyes light up and a small smirk tug at the corners of her lips.

         "Well, dear God." She muttered, her gaze still fixed on her brother who was ambling along the street, "Let this be my time and my turn, whether Ferre likes it or not."

          She moved like lightning out of the library and into the hallway, paying little attention to how boisterously she manoeuvred through the house; how thankful she was that her mother had left the house for the patisserie. 

        With haste, she found her shoes beneath the cabinet in the decaying hallway — after scrambling through a lot of pairs she assumed belonged to Combeferre. Before she grabbed one of her mother's dark shawls that hung upon one of the hooks and wrapped it tightly around herself, in preparation for the cold that awaited her outside the house.

        She hesitantly clasped her hand around the worn door handle, and with a deep breath pulled it towards her. The door opened with a long mellow creek, and Mathilde's eyes immediately winced at the stream of cold light that washed into the house. However, they'd adjusted to it, she couldn't help but grin at the world before her that the open door had just exposed.

        While that excitement continued to course through her, her grin fell into a determined expression as her eyes caught her brother's figure turning the corner at the end of their street. 

        Enough was enough. She was sick and tired of the way he treated her, as though she was no more than a helpless child. Yet, now, having stepped beyond the threshold of their house alone — her determination grew within her, she felt as though she had just taken the first step to proving him wrong.

        Mathilde slammed the front door behind her — in her family's apparent manner — and followed her brother's footsteps at pace. It was not long before she caught sight of him once more and began to follow him closely, however remained careful in her pursuit as she had no desire for him not to spot her — nor to slip on the damp pavement, for that matter.

         Mathilde wrapped her shawl around her body that bit tighter as she willed her feet to press on, taking in her surroundings as she journeyed. She hadn't ventured out into this part of the city of Paris for a good few weeks; the part both Amélie and Combeferre knew so well; the part where poverty ran thick.

        She was angered greatly at how different the state of living was just a five minute's brisk walk away from her residence. She was incredulous at how the king was turning a blind eye to all the suffering and pain that his country beheld, and how showed initiative to aid it.

        Moving through these parts of the city, the blonde girl began to feel various pairs eyes on her but all the while kept an eye of Combeferre who darted through the dense crowds of the street. She tried to ignore their gazes as best as she could, but this didn't prevent her sending the odd sympathetic glance, every now and then, to a young woman curled up on a doorstep or an old man shivering from the cold.

        Suddenly, a rather frail-looking girl came into her view — Mathilde noted how this girl couldn't have been much younger than herself. The girl had long dark hair that was clearly tangled and knotted, as it tried to mask her sunken cheeks and lifeless eyes. The dress that she wore hung on her frame and clearly provided no sort of warmth — it was no more than rags, torn as though mauled by a rabid animal.

        Mathilde's evaluative had clearly been on the girl too long as turned and quirked an eyebrows at the blonde. She was quick to realise that she was drawing too much attention to herself and quickly continued on her way.

         Another right turn, and then promptly a left led her to a square, where she lost sight of Combeferre momentarily and a slight panic overtook her. However, she caught sight of him again in merely seconds. Mathilde readjusted her shawl on her shoulders and took a decisive step forward in order to continue following, when suddenly a yelp of pain stopped her in her tracks.

          Her hazel eyes panned around the square when upon they landed on the source of the noise, standing not too far from her. A tall man in a dark uniform was holding a small boy — of no more than ten — up in the air by his shoulder. Mathilde felt her heart break at the sight of the boy who was frighteningly underweight and by the look of it was simply trying to steal a bit of bread.

         She felt her jaw clench as her gaze panned back to the man holding her and she spotted several medals adoring guests the breast of his uniform. From what she knew, his various assortment of medals implied the man was an inspector; and this inspector was screaming at this child who knew no better than steal.

         The boy had a dirty golden mop of hair upon his head, and didn't appear fazed by the inspector's words but his violent manner was frightening him and everyone spectating in the square.

        Mathilde couldn't rip her eyes from the scene playing out, and prayed silently that the inspector would harm the boy no further. She knew someone had to intervene and before her own rationality could stop her, she found herself to be the one doing just that.

         "Stop!" She let out a cry aimed at the inspector, as she strode forward in his directions — his attention was caught as his gaze flicked in her direction, menacingly. "Can't you see he's just a child? He did nothing wrong!"

         "Mademoiselle." The Inspector addressed her in a calm tone although Mathilde could have sworn she saw his grip on the child getting tighter, "I suggest you remember your status and stop associating with those below your calibre."

         "I beg your pardon, Monsieur." The blonde retorted, sternly, as her fists clenched at her sides. "But you do not get to remind me of my place, when clearly I should be reminding you of yours. I do not believe that abusing little boys is part of your duty."

        "Mademoiselle, this child is a thief—"

        "This child is a child!" She was forced to remind him, refusing to his excuses. "He knows no better given the conditions than your king allows him to live in. "

         "My king is your king, Mademoiselle." The Inspector reminded her in turn, sparing her a small glare.

         "Let him go, Inspector." She cemented calmly, her eyes boring sternly into his, assuring him that any other response would be futile.

       After a few seconds of contemplation, the Inspector conceded and lowered the boy toward the floor before letting him go, roughy. A large breath of relief left the small boy's lips as he hung close about his rescuer, who continued to stare down the Inspector.

         "I advise that you continue your duty elsewhere."

         "Miss, if you would please recall your status. I'll take heed in what you say." The Inspector advised her, in a warning tone.

          "Monsieur, I commend you for your duty." She replied, plastering a tight-lipped smile on her lips and acting as sincerely as she could manage — which wasn't very, "Now let this child be on his way."

          "As you say," The Inspector nodded, with a slight bow of his head. "Come now, men." He gestured to his companions who mirrored his actions, before he spared the blonde girl another suspicious glance. "And Miss, do not cross me again."

The Inspector turned on his heel, leaving with another sharp nod, allowing the commotion in the square to return to normal as he and his fellow men disappeared from view.

Mathilde found herself letting out a breath, she wasn't aware that she'd been holding, before casting a glance down at the small boy who still stood by her, and was now smiling a toothy grin up at me. From what the blonde could gather, he appeared to be on his own, as no one else in the square around them seemed to have responsibility for him. Mirroring his smile, Mathilde sank down so far and crouched so that she was at his level.

"Good day, M'sieur." She greeted, politely as she plastered a small smirk on her lips. Mathiode could see how the  boy's smile had broadened upon hearing the formal address she had given him. "Are you alright, ...?"

Mathilde's mouth opened and then closed dumbly, before she pressed her lips into a thin line upon realising that she was not aware of his name. However, the young boy was clearly well-versed as he read that social cut with no problem and jumped to her rescue.

"Gavroche." He replied with a proud smile, before quirking an eyebrow and looking up at her. "What's your name?"

"My name is Mathilde." She told him, with a small chuckle. "Are you alright, Gavroche?"

"I am now." Gavroche answered her, his grin never fading as he looked on her admiringly. He had never conversed with an educated lady before — never mind one that cared enough to help him out of a tight spot. "You saved me."

"Oh no." She was very quick to dismiss him with a smile small, before resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. "I just did the right thing."

The reassurance in her voice maintained the small boy's grin as Mathilde began looking him over. Up close, it was even more apparent that the poor boy was barely flesh and bone; he must have been starving. Without another thought, Mathilde found herself clenching her jaw ever so slightly in resolve, and reaching into the pocket of her dress to withdraw some money for him. She counted out five francs before beckoning the small boy forward and tucking them tightly into his palm.

"Here, take this and get yourself some nice pastries, yes?" She told him, all the while raising an eyebrow so as to prompt his response which he gave in the form of an excited nod.

"Merci, Mademoiselle Mathilde." He cried in glee, closing his fist around the coins and holding them close to him before taking a step back and bowing his head to her.

"You're welcome." Mathilde smiled, bashfully, at his manners and noticing how the colour that had been washed from his face after his encounter with the Inspector was perfectly restored. "Try and stay out of trouble for me, would you?"

"I will." He nodded firmly, his great blue that now gleamed brightly meeting hers in sincerity as though he was swearing it to her — Mathilde couldn't pretend she wasn't touched by it.

"Alright." She cemented before letting out a light breath and arising from her crouched position back to her feet, her gaze darting around the square as she brought her focus back to the task that has been at its forefront just moments previously.

However, her heart sank and a slight frustration crossed her features as she continued to look and discover that her brother had disappeared.

"Merde." A slight mutter left her lips.

       Although, Mathilde was sure that her less than lady-like-language was said in a tone far too quiet for the small boy to hear, she soon realised that she was mistaken as his small voice called up to her;

       "Are you alright, Mathilde?"

        "Yes, Gavroche, I'm just fine." The girl answered honestly, although her actions didn't quite match her manner as she let out the smallest of disheartened sighs — she supposed that she could always make another attempt at following Ferre another day. "I've just lost track of my brother, I was following him, you see."

       "Oh, I'm sorry." Gavroche muttered in a sorry manner, his gaze fixating on the floor, convincing himself that he had been the sole party to blame for the dilemma that the blonde now found herself in.

       Mathilde's heart found itself near bleeding at the sight of the boy's clear sorrow and almost immediately took resolve to right his mood.

       "Oh, it's no matter," She grinned at the small boy, who mirrored her smile once he'd laid eyes on it. "I'll just follow him tomorrow, instead. Maybe I'll see you then too."

       With a small wink in his direction, Mathilde started to turn on her heel and retrace her steps home. But her plan was quickly put out of action as a cry of "Mathilde!" echoed down the street after her. A knowing smile crossed her features upon immediately recognising its boyish tone;

       "Yes, Gavroche? She smiled, turning back slightly to see the boy following closely behind her.

       "You should come and meet my friends, tonight." He told her with an excited nod, "The gents, that is. I know they'll want to thank you for helping me today."

       The idea mulled over in her mind, and it wasn't long before she determined that any excuse to be out of that dreadful house, she would gladly take.

       "Why, of course." She agreed, causing his smile to brighten, "Where shall I find you?"

       Gavroche raised one of his arms and pointed down one of the streets that connected to the square. With her eyes intently focused on the direction in which he pointed, Mathilde could just about make out a lopsided building standing tall at one of the street-ends.

       "There, the Café Musain at eight o'clock."

       Putting a name to the building seemed to give it almost instant life as Mathilde noticed the Café Musain was riddled inside and out with customers, perhaps it was a social ground along the suffering. Either which way she was certain that she would attend as requested and spared the young boy a sure nod.

       "I'll see you then, M'sieur."

***

THE TIME HAD READ ten to eight when Mathilde had succeeded in departing her house for the second that day. At least that was the time on the face of the pocket watch she'd found within Combeferre's jacket which was now slung over her shoulders as she attempted to navigate the streets once more.

Mathilde had elected to be a little more smart about her attire upon reflection of her encounter with the Inspector that morning. It was enough to confirm to the girl that a lady of class appearing in the streets was far from normal. And with the nights getting darker as the seasons waned, she was sure that she didn't want to draw too much attention to herself — even if she was only meeting some friends of an acquaintance.

So, in her pursuit, she found herself some old trousers of Combeferre's that were just about the right length, however still took one of his belts in order to fasten them tightly around her waist.

There was a spare cotton shirt hanging on his wardrobe door, that hung loosely upon her frame but didn't look too obvious once it had been tucked it into the trousers. Then, she had slipped her arms into his grey overcoat before tucking her long wavy hair into one of Ferre's hats upon her head.

She caught herself in the mirror as she made haste, and declared that, from a distance, she seemed quite convincing; it was enough to not attract attention.

Her mama had retired to her room, allowing her believe that she was in clear. Knowing the woman's ways, Mathilde assumed she wouldn't come out until morning, if it was just an ordinary night. The blonde desperately hoped she wouldn't wake to find the rest of her household absent — neither Combeferre or Amélie had returned from the town as of yet.

Fresh drizzle was falling to the ground and coating the streets in a clean glaze, as she wrapped the coat around herself and tucked the pocket watch away back where she'd found it.

There was a slight spring in her step as she walked briskly through the soaking streets; the notion of making new acquaintances filled her with the upmost excited as she bustled through the tired hustle and bustle of florists and bakers coming back to a day's work of selling.

Turning the corner, Mathilde secured her hat upon her head as her eyes landed upon the very building that Gavroche had pointed to earlier the day. The Café Musain lit up the entire street; it was a place of life. Mathilde couldn't fight the grin that crept onto her face at the sight.

         She took a deep breath and fixed her gaze, resolutely as she hurried towards the door. Her hand grasped the door handle, and she was struck immediately by a blast of warmth from the lit lanterns.

         Pulling the hat down a little further to mask her features, Mathilde brought her gaze to the room and began scanning it for the small boy. But to her dismay, as she looked over the tables littered with liquor and hearty conversation, she saw no sign of him. Her mind raced with a thousand questions and a mild feeling of panic, as she wondered whether he had tricked her.

        However, she wasn't quite ready to give up. She clenched her jaw, and took a sharp breath in before approaching the bar.

         "Excuse me?" She asked the barmaid — a middle aged woman with a rosy face, and a warm smile — in a low voice, "Is a young man named Gavroche here?"

        "He's upstairs." The woman replied, sparing Mathilde a curious glance, at which she quickly averted her gaze towards the stairs at the other end of the room, leading to the next tier of building. "But you might want to wait a second, the meeting is still ongoing. Enjolras won't like—"

         "Thank you, Madame!" Mathilde called jovially in response, paying very little attention to the woman's final sentiment, as she jogged in the direction of the stairs.

       She ascended them in a matter of seconds, the ageing wood creaking beneath her feet as she did so. There was a closed door at their summit, a faint glimmer of light shining through the gap at the bottom. She inhaled slightly nervously and then proceeded with a confident knock at the door.

         "Come in!" A voice called from within on response to her knock.

        Mathilde's brows furrowed ever so slightly in confusion, the voice didn't sound particularly youthful. She looked around briefly to check that there was not another room, and she was not mistaken again.

        Shaking off her confusion, Mathilde strode forward and opened the door, finding herself standing in front of a least twenty young men whose gazes were all fixed intently upon her.

         A sigh of relief left her lips despite the confusion that still overwhelmed her. There was a jolly atmosphere lingering in the room, no one had spoken and yet she already felt a comfort in being there; she longed to bask in that feeling of acceptance.

           That was until one of the men spoke up having only spared an irritated glance at her, catching her attention as causing her blood boil in her veins as she recognised the voice and face that was turning her away; Combeferre.

         "Excuse me but this is private matter." He spoke, his eyes still fixed on some documents that lay in front of him on a table.

        A frustrated grimace found its way onto Mathilde's features as all reason left her mind and she ripped the hat from her head before promptly launching it at Combeferre, hitting him roughly on the top of his own head.

         "Oh, is it Ferre?!"

         "Mademoiselle Mathilde!" The excited voice of Gavroche cried as he leapt up from his seat where the girl had failed to spot him.

          At the sound of her name, Mathilde found herself becoming fully aware once more, remembering that by tearing the hat off her head, she had revealed her identity. A slight sigh of disappointment left her lips at her simple mistake that foiled her plan, and consciously lifted her hair so that it fell down her back. Yet her grimace did not falter as Combeferre reacted to her presence.

        "Mathilde?!" He cried in surprise, rising form his seat; he was either mildly impressed or frustrated as he looked her up and down. "Are you wearing my clothes?"

        A large scoff left her lips as her anger was washed aside by a wave of pride. While she'd foiled her own plan, she'd also foiled his. He'd been trying to keep his attendance at this place a secret and she'd — albeit unintentionally — found him out.

        "So, this is where you're sneaking off to, is it?" She asked, folding my arms across her front with a quirk of my eyebrow, gazing around the room. "Just what on earth are you doing?"

         Her gaze landed on various other faces she knew, eyes widening as she did. There were some of their childhood friends, Courfeyrac and Jehan, a co-worker of Combeferre's, Joly, and various other faces from their school days.

         "Is this some sort of school boy reunion?" She asked, amidst a chuckle, an eyebrow quirking as she surveyed them all again. "I'm almost insulted that I wasn't invited, Ferre!"

        She was fully aware that she making a spectacle of herself, as she maintained the tense exchange between herself and her brother; one that not one of the men dared to interrupt.

         "Mathilde, go home." Combeferre replied sternly, earning a small glare in response from his sister as someone else was the one to protest.

         "No!"

         Mathilde's head snapped around and landed on another small figure that she knew very well, who sat beside Joly on a bench not far from her.

        "Amélie?" She questioned, not believing her own eyes, as she questioned in what sane world Amélie would be invited to a gathering and not her. "Amélie's here? Well, now, I'm definitely insulted!"

        Combeferre made to interject but was interrupted by Gavroche once more, who shouted out with a stubborn cry.

         "I invited her!"

        All gazes shot to him, as Mathilde fully acknowledged just how quiet the room had fallen amidst her little dispute with her brother.

         "She saved me from the inspector, this morning." Gavroche told the others, causing all their gazes to fall away from him and land back on the girl stood in the doorway.

         "You did?" Combeferre questioned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he looked at his sister.

         "Well, the inspector was being inhuman." Mathilde said, calmly, attempting to brush off her act of kindness, "The way the government treats the people is disgraceful. How could I not intervene?" Her gaze faltered from that of her brother and looked back to Gavroche, cracking a smile, "Especially for such a gentleman."

         Gavroche replied with the toothy grin, puffing out his chest in pride, earning a light chuckle from Mathilde.

          "Gavroche, you can't just invite people to our meetings." Combeferre scolded the boy, in a gentle tone that Mathilde recognised from the days in which he would chastise her. "They're confidential."

         "Oh, I didn't know this was a matter of confidentiality." She smirked, with a hint of mischief in her eyes, relishing once more in the fact that she had got under her brother's skin. "Well, now I simply must know what you're up to."

         "Mathilde, please!" Combeferre said, frustratedly, sending a hard stare my way and shaking his head at her.

          "Honestly, what's so bad about whatever you're discussing?" She asked desperately, letting out a defeated breath, beginning to feel hurt by her brother's actions. "Why won't you tell me? You're beginning to scare me. Won't someone tell me what's going on?"

          "They're planning a revolution!"

          Multiple cries of "Gavroche!" filled the room as the small urchin gave away their scheme, much to the collective horror of the gentleman around him.

         "A revolution?" Mathilde repeated slowly, her eyes widening as she looked at each man then finally her brother, whose gaze had shot to the floor.

          "The conditions the people live in are abominable. If we want to make an impact and reform these conditions. We have to revolt against the King." Combeferre said in a small voice, earning a sympathetic look from his sister, who had no idea that he felt so passionately about the topic.

       Silence fell once more around the room as gazes flew back to the girl in the doorway trying to gauge her reaction as she stomached her brother's words. However, it was not long before a large smile broke out across her face.

        "That's genius!"

        "I'm sorry—?"

        "Why, that's fantastic!" Mathilde cried in glee, a light finding its way to her eyes as she looked around at all the boys who now wore smirks of amusement at her excited reaction. "You must tell me what I can do to help!"

        Combeferre seemed lost for words, as thought this was the last way he'd expected his sister to take the news.

        "Why do you look so surprised? I hate the King as much as you do, Ferre!" She said, shoving him lightly in the shoulder, "You're my brother. Of course, I feel the same way as you!"

         "Mathilde, I'd love for you to help." Combeferre chuckled, placing his hands on her shoulder in attempt to calm her down. "But it's not my call."

         "Then whose is it?" She asked, her jaw clenching quickly, as her eyebrows furrowed.

         "That would be mine."

        At the sound of a new voice, Mathilde's attention was captured and she turned around to see the owner of the voice that had just spoken; the sight sending a chill down her spine.

        Her gaze landed on him; there he was. It took everything in her not to audibly gasp; chiselled marble features, striking eyes, golden curls; Apollo.

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