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cracking marble
act one, autumn
chapter four, patria

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( septembre , 1831 )

"AND WHO MIGHT THIS BE?"

As the group descended the stairs from the meeting room, the voice of the rosy woman Mathilde had first spoken to upon entering the café called out.

"An imposter?" She mused, earning a light chuckle from Mathilde at her words.

"Something of the sort." Courfeyrac replied, walking past the blonde girl towards a table in the  now deserted café.

"Oh, hush!" Mathilde said, swatting him away, looking back at the lady with a shy smile. "I'm Mathilde."

"My sister, Madame!" Combeferre clarified from the table, where some of the men had decided to retire.

Most of them had left the café, however a small group made up of Combeferre, the children, Joly, Grantaire, Courf and Enjolras remained, sitting at the table just behind Mathilde.

"Oh, your sister?" She smirked, with a playful glint in her eye. "Who knew Combeferre could have such a beautiful sister?"

"Shocked us all." Grantaire heckled from his chair, where he was still nursing his bottle of alcohol.

Combeferre made to rebuke Grantaire's comment, the blonde tried her best to contain her chuckle out of pride, as she had not — if it wasn't obvious — been particularly taken with Grantaire.

"Thank you, Madame." She said, instead, not looking behind her where the sounds of a petty argument between her brother and the drunk broke out.

"Do you mean to say I'm not flattering to the eye, R?"

"Ah, Combeferre, you wise one. For that is exactly what I meant."

"You cocky bas—!"

"I'm Madame Houcheloupe." The woman introduced herself, taking Mathilde's hands in her own warmly. "Will we be seeing a lot of you?"

A warm smile broke out across her features, as she tucked her fair hair behind her ear, with a slightly nervous disposition.

"I expect so." The girl gave a short nod. "Hopefully, I've made quite the impression."

"Clearly, if you convinced Enjolras." Madame Houcheloupe chuckled at her, nodding at the fearless leader who sat the table behind them.

The stoic man could not have looked less amused by the ongoing brawl that was entertaining the rest of the company.

"But, my dear, what on Earth are you wearing?" Madame changed the subject, glancing Mathilde up and down, observing the state of her attire.

"They're old clothes of Ferre's." The blonde confessed, with a small shrug, "I didn't really have anything appropriate for gallivanting around the city."

"I see." Madame smirked, the cheeky glint reappearing in her eyes, once more before she quickly added. "Wait, right there."

Mathilde quirked her eyebrow in curiosity at the woman as she disappeared behind the bar into the back room.

"Scared her off already, 'Tilde?" Joly enquired, with a hearty chuckle from where he sat smoking a pipe at the table behind her.

"I must have. I had no idea I was so intimidating." She answered, with mock surprise, as Madame re-emerged from the depths of the backroom with what looked like piles of fabric in her arms.

"Here you are." The woman smiled, placing them in the bar in front of me, as Mathilde tore her attention from Joly and turned back to face her.

"What is this?" The girl chuckled, picking up one of the pieces of fabric and allowing it to unfurl revealing a very pretty and simple dress.

"They're old dresses of my daughters', I keep them here in case any of the barmaids spill drinks on themselves." She explained, "But, now, they're yours."

Mathilde's eyes widened at the sudden gesture of kindness and politely tried to protest but she very quickly silenced me.

"I don't want you to go hiding your beauty under those caps, you have to use it to your advantage with those boys." She winked, earning a small smile from the girl who still held her brother's cap on her hands.

"Thank you, Madame." Mathilde said, as she held the navy blue dress up to herself, assessing whether it would fit her. "I'm very appreciative. Thank you, really."

         "You needn't thank me." The woman silenced her gratitude, "I expect things will be a lot more interesting around here with your attendance."

        Her gaze fixed ever so slightly over the girl's shoulder, Mathilde swore that she could have bet all her sous on just who she was looking at.

       "But, for now, come in here, go change into one and take the rest home with you." She opened up the doorway into the back room for me, as Mathilde clutched the dress close to her. "I'll gather some more for you by tomorrow morning."

        The blonde girl found herself lost for words; shocked at Madame Houcheloupe's generosity, seeing as she'd known her only mere seconds.

         "I'm in your debt, Madame."

         "You are in no such place, Mathilde." She countered with a knowing look, as she stepped aside and allowed the girl to pass her, entering the room to change.

        Madame Houcheloupe closed the door behind her, and once she'd scoped out the door to double check it was completely private, Mathilde began to change.

        Within seconds, the jacket, shirt and trousers had been discarded and she was dressed in the navy dress — that had been in her grasp when she stood at the bar. A dirty mirror hung on a nearby wall that allowed her to inspect her reflection and spare herself a nod of approval; surprised at how well the dress fit her.

       The only thing that remained the same were the boots on her feet, that belonging to herself — only ever worn before this point, on the very odd occasion, when her mama would allow her to accompany her in outings to the town.

         And with that, the blonde girl re-emerged into the bar with a small smirk on my face, never having felt so much comfort from an item of clothing.

         "You can have those dreadful tatters back, brother!" She grinned, tossing him his clothes back, from across the cafe, which he caught with ease.

        "I'll have you know that's my finest jacket." He commented, as he hung the item on the back of a chair that he'd pulled out for his sister who was rapidly approaching the table.

        "I'm sure." She replied, with a roll of her eyes, as Amélie appeared beside her and jumped onto Ferre's lap.

        "Would you like a drink, Mathilde?" Joly asked, changing the subject as he stood to refill his wine.

       "If there's any water, please, Joly?" The blonde answered, politely, as she pulled Gavroche up onto my own lap, where he gave a small yawn that shook through his tiny body.

         "Can't take a drink, can you?"

         The voice of the cynical drunk was heard as he made the comment from the other side of the table, where he shot her a curious look.

        "Grantaire, I would appreciate it if you weren't so discourteous toward my sister." Combeferre muttered in response, as a tired sigh left his lips.

        "Now, now, Ferre." His sister chided, a small smirk growing on her features. "I'm sure Monsieur Grantaire knows no better given his current state at least."

        A low rumble of chuckling shook the table, as Mathilde continued to smirk while Gavroche gave a small laugh — although the girl was fairly confident that the young boy had no clue what the group were discussing.

        Joly wore the remains of a grin as he approached the table once more and placed a cup of water in front of her.

        "Thank you, Joly."

         "I think I'll like you, little Combeferre." Grantaire smirked, as the chuckling died down as he took another swig from the bottle before him.

        "Well, I'm flattered, Grantaire."

       Her answer was laced with sarcasm, however, part of her was sincere. She saw very little point in repulsing this man because of one habit that he shared with others of his age and calibre. There was no point in not being civil, Mathilde was sure that she could learn to tolerate his habits, if anything.

         "Anyway, drinking is not a hobby that interests me greatly." The girl added, shooting the cynic a pointed look as she reached for her own glass and took a sip of water.

        "And what hobbies do interest you?"

        The tavern seemed to drop to silence at the abrupt contribution of the leader in red who had paused his writing in order to address the young woman. The other men were peering around at each other, noticeably astounded that he had asked such a question.

        He hadn't looked up particularly, nor was he looking at her, his gaze was still fixed on the scribbles and notes placed in front of him, despite not adding to them, yet his tone was so poignant that Mathilde assumed his question must have been directed at .

         "Reading, mainly." She answered with slight hesitation, marginally put out by the reaction of the boys around her. "Writing as well, not by comparison."

         "She's an educated lady." Gavroche piped up, amidst a yawn from his position in Mathilde's lap, earning a rumble of chuckling from the men around them as she spared him a small smile and stroked his head in thanks for his compliment.

        "With a care for politics?" The leader added preemptively, this time bringing his head up in order to meet her gaze, his intrigue becoming more evident.

        "Not so much politics." She answered, truthfully with a light chuckle on her tone. The man's interest seemed to simmer down at her quick dismissal, causing her to hastily add. "More so the outcomes of it. And if this revolution leads to greater freedom and rights for the people of France, then yes, I care for it very deeply."

        She answered his question, her resolution bringing his gaze back to hers. He looked over her face inquisitively, as he had done before upstairs as though it was alien to him; as though it was an intense puzzle he had all of ten seconds to complete.

        Having finally decided that a stern nod would appropriately signify his acknowledgment of her statements, the leader looked back down at his notes.

        "I'll drink to that." Grantaire chimed in, after having nodded along to the girl's sentiments, raising his bottle.

         "I'm sure you'd drink to anything." Mathilde joked, lightheartedly, with a roll of her eyes yet raising her cup in a similar fashion.

         "I'm keeping you." Grantaire chuckled, shooting the girl a humoured look before disappearing behind the body of his bottle.

         "Here, here!" Courfeyrac cried out, as the rest of the world was drowned out by the sound of clinking bottles and laughter that carried on until the later hours of night.

***

        MATHILDE WAS REQUIRED to imagine what time it was when everyone left the Musain. She had never seen the streets of Paris at such an hour before. Then again, she'd never seen anything at this hour before; she'd never been out so late.

        The group had divided by this point; Joly and Grantaire turned down the alley adjacent to the café while the rest had continued down the street.

        Combeferre carried a tired Amélie in his arms, and Courfeyrac held little Gavroche in his, who was in a similar state with his face buried in the centre's shoulder.

        "Where will he go?" Mathilde asked in a hushed tone — although it seemed quite loud compared to the tranquility of the cobbled streets.

         "He'll stay with me tonight," Courf replied as they fell into step with one another while Enjolras walked alongside Combeferre and Amélie, only a couple of paces ahead of them.

        "The gents and I take turns with him."Courfeyrac explained, his hushed tone never faltering. "But a lot of he time, he takes care of himself. He's a smart boy."

         "I've gathered." The girl replied with a sombre smile as she looked over the sleepy little boy, wanting nothing more than to be assured of his safety.

        "Courfeyrac."

        The group had approached a crossroads, leading to further division between them as Enjolras and Courfeyrac bid their goodbyes and, with Gavroche, made their way down the street on our left.

        Mathilde and her family proceeded forwards, the girl having to increase her pace ever so slightly so as to fall into step beside her siblings. She spared a quick glance over her shoulder after the men, who had departed from their group, only for her gaze to be met with one that she could hardly fail to recognise after that day.

        Enjolras' gaze lingered slightly upon her, but he turned away just as the family went out of view and continued their way down the moonlit streets of Paris. 

        Mathilde clutched the other dresses — that Madame Houcheloupe had very kindly gifted to her — close to her chest and I kept up with my older brother, who still managed to travel briskly along the streets despite carrying their sister.

         "Tell me about Monsieur Enjolras, Ferre." The blonde asked suddenly into the silence of the black night.

        Her brother didn't seem all too startled by her abrupt question; no doubt he probably expected it.

        "He is intriguing, isn't he?"

        "Highly." She confirmed, as they turned through the square where on that selfsame day Mathilde rescued Gavroche from the unruly inspector.

        "He's from a wealthy family, surprisingly," Combeferre explained to his younger sister, as they progressed along the cobbled streets. "And, as I'm sure you can gather, he believes in democracy and freedom and is willing to do anything to achieve it."

       Combeferre painted the picture well. The more she thought, the more Mathilde could imagine Enjolras being just as capable of being terrible, as being heroic.

        "He's very much the leader of our unit." Combeferre implored, just as they turned onto their street. "He is the driving force. We couldn't function without him, truthfully."

        "I won't lie." The statement left her lips a minutes later, once the group had reached their front door and Combeferre started fumbling with the lock. "I'm quite taken with him, Ferre."

        As they stepped through the threshold, the manner of her brother informed the girl that he seemed neither taken aback or surprised.

        "I imagine you are." Combeferre answered, with a dry chuckle on his lips, as they shut the door quietly and began advancing up the stairs. "But don't get too hopeful, Mathilde. In all the time I've known him he's not once shown an interest in any woman."

        Mathilde couldn't the feeling of her heart sinking at her words, as they reached the top of the stairs and entered Amélie's room.

        "That is except Patria." Combeferre added in a casual tone, as he quickly tucked Amélie into bed.

        "Patria?" Mathilde repeated the name her brother had mentioned with a confused look on her features, watching as her brother exited the room and began making her way up the next flight of stairs to their own rooms.

        "His mistress we presume." Her brother answered with a small shrug, dismissing her confusion by beckoning her to follow him. "He claims that is who he is fighting for."

        With her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, the blonde girl kept her footsteps quiet as she rushed after her brother, running up the steps to the next floor.

        The wheels in her head were turning at the mention of the name — and was a beautiful name it was; Patria. Latin, the girl mentally remarked. And was truly a beautiful name, yet it was Latin for —

        She let out a light scoff as the notion dawned on her, and she called ahead to her older brother.

        "You're all idiots." She spoke smugly, capturing her brother's attention. "Patria means fatherland. It's Latin. He has no mistress, he's fighting for the fatherland; for France."

        Combeferre's own eyebrows furrowed in the same expression that hers had as he paused for thought, before looking back up at me, his jaw dropping ever so slightly.

        "And it's smart of him." Mathilde added in commandment, mildly impressed at how the man had fooled his friends into thinking he was clueing them into his private life.

        "Fatherland?!" Combeferre repeated, in a whisper shout, evidently rather surprised by the sudden revelation.

        "Hush, Ferre!" His sister scolded him, with a light chuckle, her eyes widening in slight alarm at the racket he was making.

        "How did you know—?" He asked, in disbelief, narrowing his eyes as she overtook him along the hallway and approached the door to her own room.

        "My obsessive reading — as you would call it — does have its perks, Ferre." She retorted with a smug smirk, before stepping into her room. "Sleep well."

        And with that, she closed the door leaving the most thrilling day of her life thus far, and her brother — who was still standing agog in the hallway, at her discovery — behind her. She couldn't fight the smile on her lips at the excitement coursing through her veins. Suddenly, the future seemed promising and the blonde girl could only wonder what it would bring.

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