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cracking marble
act two, winter
chapter eight, the first rally

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(       decembre , 1831      )

"THAT'LL BE ALL for today, children." Mathilde smiled, setting down her chalk on the table at the front of the room.

The meeting room at the Musain was hardly recognisable since it had been turned into a classroom.

Eight tables lined up four by two stretched towards the opposite end of the room, each table sat two children, whose faces wore bright smiles after their teacher concluded.

Gavroche and Amélie had managed to spread the word of Mathilde's teaching to a fair few children — at least forty — and this was only one of the classes she would teach.

They organised them by age, the class sat in front of her was children of eight to nine years, the age of Gavroche and Amélie who sat at the table closest to the front.

"Please bring up your papers to the front of the room and put them on my table on your way out." The blonde chirped as she turned and took the dusting cloth in her hand and wiped down the chalkboard.

"I'll be testing you on your alphabet next lesson, so keep practising." She reminded the children, as she rubbed off letters E-M on the board.

A small buzz of excitement filled the room, Mathilde doubted any the children there — with the exception of Amélie — had ever reacted to the prospect of being tested before.

The blonde turned back around to face them, setting down the dusting cloth and just as she was about to dismiss them, the door to the meeting room swung open, with haste.

All the gazes in the room fixed on the man who had just entered, unannounced, with curiosity. He took a few steps forward, wrapt up in the words on the pages he was carrying.

He must have sensed the other presences in the room, as a few seconds later he looked up.

"Oh, my apologies!" Enjolras cried, looking around at the children sat in the room before shifting his gaze to Mathilde's. "I didn't realise you were still in here."

   When detailing the arrangement of the lessons, it had been agreed that Mathilde could teach in the morning until two o'clock in the afternoon, and then the room would be free for the boys to occupy.

The watch on her wrist read two o'clock exactly, he was not in the wrong.

"It's fine, we were just finishing," Mathilde gave him a fond smile in response to his apologetic one, as she sat on the table at the head of the room, she looked at the children who were still marvelling at Enjolras. "We learnt the alphabet today, didn't we?"

The children focused again and nodded furiously, with wide smiles as a few muttered "Yes!".

"Very impressive." Enjolras smirked, setting down his papers next to the blonde on the table, he clasped his hands behind his back and looked to the children, "Now tell me," He began, sparing Mathilde a quick glance, "Is Mademoiselle Mathilde a good teacher?"

A hearty chuckle left her mouth at his question as the children broke out into a chain of compliments.

"She's the best!" A small girl named Élodie cheered from the table at the back of the room.

"We love her!" cried a young boy to the right, named Henri.

Enjolras spared the blonde a quick smirk which said a thousand words but most obviously said I told you so.

"Then I trust you'll all do her proud and learn your alphabet." Enjolras smiled at the children.

It was a side of him Mathilde rarely saw. It came out occasionally whenever he was with Amélie or Gavroche, and quite frankly it warmed her heart. Part of her wondered what a wonderful father he would make.

The blonde removed her gaze from the man who continued to plague her thoughts, and looked back to the children whose gazes were fixated on the same thing.

"Alright," She declared, hopping off the table and clapping her hands together, "Be off with you!"

She smiled, heartily, as the children ran from their seats and placed pieces of parchment on the table.

They shouted their goodbyes, as they ran out of the room and down the stairs like a stampede of buffaloes, with the exception of Amélie and Gavroche who were at the windowsill looking down onto the street.

Mathilde spared a fond smile at Enjolras, before a small voice interrupted the exchange between them.

"Mademoiselle Mathilde?"

Turning around, she spotted Philippe. He was definitely the youngest of the class, he was easily the smallest; very reserved. His mousy brown hair was long overdue a cut and hung in face allowing him to hide behind it.

"Yes, Philippe?" The blonde smiled, bending down to his height, feeling Enjolras' gaze fixed on the scene in front of him.

"May I speak with you?" He asked, shyly, swaying nervously on the spot.

"Of course, let me walk you out." Mathilde grabbed her book off of the table, knowing it would be most likely lost when the boys rearranged the room for the meeting.

The small boy led the way, and meandered slowly through the door and onto the staircase. The blonde spared a coy smile at Enjolras before following Philippe down the stairs into the bar downstairs.

When they arrived at the ground floor, they shuffled past a few members of Les Amis as they made their way up the stairs for the meeting.

After a few more seconds, the duo reached the door of the Musain and took a quick left turn before Philippe stopped on the stone steps adjacent to the café.

"Are you alright, dear one?" She asked, furrowing her eyebrows in concern as the small boy took a seat on the steps.

It took a while for him to respond, as though he was searching for the exact words to voice his feelings.

Philippe peered up at his teacher through his overgrown hair, and muttered. "I'm nervous."

Mathilde said nothing, and let the boy continue.

"Everyone else is learning much quicker than I am; I feel stupid."

He looked down at the ground, hiding behind his hair again. The blonde smiled weakly at the frail boy, as she bent down at sat next to him on the stone steps, resting her book in her lap.

"Nonsense." She told him, causing him to look up at her once more, "We all learn at different rates, and all I can ask of you is that you keep practising and you do your best. Slow and steady wins the race, mon chérie."

His spirits seemed undoubtedly lifted as he gave her a shy smile, his gaze falling to the book lying in her lap.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to read like you?" He asked, eagerly, "Will I ever be able to read something like that?"

"I know you will, Philippe." Mathilde told him sincerely, picking up the book in her lap, allowing him to look over it, "I'll lend you The Tempest one day and you can read it for me."

The small boy's face was overtaken with a wide grin, as he handed the book back to her.

"Promise?" He asked.

"I promise."

"Merci, Mademoiselle." He grinned, hastily getting up from the steps and with a small wave, skipped away down the street, singing as he went, "A, B, C, D ..."

A warm chuckle left her lips, as her eyes followed him out of sight. With a satisfied sigh, the blonde rose to her feet with her book clutched to her chest.

She turned on her heel and came face to face with another being very abruptly, causing her to lose to her footing and let out a surprised cry as she steadied herself on the nearby wall.

"Good day, Mathilde." smirked the general, as the girl instinctively took a step backwards.

"Monsieur Antoine." She breathed, irritatedly, putting on her best faux smile.

"Wonderful book you have there." He tried for conversation, gesturing at the book in her hand.

"The Tempest?" She elaborated, in confusion, "Have you read it?"

The smirk on Antoine's face fell immediately, as he gave a small cough to mask how she'd caught him off guard.

"Well, not that one." He excused, his smirk back in place as he tried to maintain the exchange between them, "But you know ... books."

Mathilde let out a small sigh, with an even smaller smile resident on her lips as she subsequently looked for an escape route.

Luckily, none other than Courfeyrac came to her aid.

"Mathilde?" The curly haired man caught her attention as he peered from the doorway to the Musain, his eyes beckoning me to enter.

"If you'll excuse me, Monsieur." She said to the general, hastily sliding past him and into the Café — but apparently that wasn't enough to throw the man off her case.

"Mathilde," The general began as the blonde let out a tired sigh, turning to face him.

As much as she detested the man, she would not let rudeness overcome her when she conversed with him; she knew better.

"I'm sure you think I have it all but here is something that I'm missing."

"I can't imagine." She answered, weakly, glancing at Madame Houcheloupe, who could do no more than to spare her a sympathetic smile as she watched the scene before her.

"A wife." Antoine said, bluntly, his eyes not leaving her face, as her eyes widened at his insinuation.

The blonde took a few steps backwards in the direction of the staircase, careful not to crash into any customers as the general continued his speech.

"You know you're not really living until you see your face reflected in someone else's eyes." He mused, his eyes not leaving hers which were rich with repulsion.

"And you can see yourself in mine?" She got out slowly, clearing her throat, as she continued to back away.

"Oh, yes." He smirked, "We're both fighters! Can't you see, Mathilde, you're the most beautiful girl in the city?"

Her eyebrows raised, as she looked down at the floor, bashfully.

"I'm flattered, Monsieur Antoine. But—"

"And with me being the most handsome man in the city," He went on, "It's only fitting that we wed."

His proposal sparked something inside her, her last nerve had snapped and she glared at the man in front of her.

"I beg your pardon!" Mathilde cried, taken aback, stepping further back from him, the close proximity between them, making her stomach churn, "Monsieur, I don't even know you! I'm quite frankly appalled!"

She turned hastily on her heel once more and jogged up the first few steps of the staircase.

"Now, now, Mathilde." He said, calmly, stopping her in my tracks and looked back at him, menacingly. "Don't make a scene, just accept my proposal."

The girl shook her head, slowly, looking incredulously at the man, peering at the barmaids who were looking onto the scene with envy, that by no mean would she ever empathise with.

"You see what happens to spinsters in this town when they do not marry?" He asked me, gesturing out of the door to the streets of Paris. "They beg for scraps on the streets."

The general stepped up the first two steps on the staircase so that — by their height difference — he was level with her.

"This is our world, Mathilde." He said, plainly, grabbing at the skirt of her dress, "For simple folk like us it doesn't get any better."

"I may not be your typical bourgeois girl," the blonde said, slowly, as she snatched her dress out of his hands, "But that does not make me simple." She progressed further up the steps, "I am not simple and I'm never going to marry you, Antoine."

"Now, Mathilde—" The man began, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

"If you'll excuse me," She snapped, looking at him with pure revolt, "I bid you good day."

And with that, the blonde jogged up the remaining steps and into the meeting room, very flustered as she slammed the door behind her and rested her head in her hands.

"What was that all about?"

Mathilde looked up to see Courf stood in front of her, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Letting out a long withheld sigh, she shook her head with a derisive smile.

"Monsieur Antoine." She answered, as she parted from the door to the table at the front of the room.

"He's giving you trouble again?" Ferre asked, as she set down her book on the table.

"He's giving me a raging headache." The girl chuckled, irritatedly, looking down at the floor. "He proposed marriage to me." She scoffed at the boys, turning around to face them.

The room fell silent, the boys looked at her and then at each other perhaps realising that as a woman she would be a target of other men's affections. Mathilde doubted that they'd realised this before that point; she was their Mathilde. She wouldn't allow herself to be married off.

"And you said—?" Grantaire asked with a small smirk, breaking the silence before the blonde cut him off with a gentle smack of the head.

"I said no, obviously!"

"The cheeky sod." Ferre muttered, scathingly. "Without even asking my permission?"

        "That's not the point, Ferre!" She retorted, beginning to pace up and down the room. "He's impertinent and bigheaded and—" She paused for thought, looking over at the boys, "and honestly foul."

       A frustrated groan left her lips, suddenly very aware of how warm she felt amidst her anger.

         "Can you imagine?" The blonde spat, annoyance thick in jer tone, as she opened the windows letting in a cool winter chill. "Me? The wife of that boorish brainless piece of work!"

         She flashed a derisive smile at the boys before quicklyseizing a piece of cloth from the nearby table and taking into her hands.

         "Madame Antoine? Can't you just see it?" She mused, putting on an act of melodramatic excitement, wrapping the cloth around her head and emulating a old lady."Madame Antoine? His little wife!"

        She tore the cloth from her head and threw it in the direction of Courfeyrac who was laughing at her little show.

         "Ugh! No sir, not me! I guarantee it." The blonde cried at her friend, at last cracking a smile.

         "I want much more than his provincial life!" She declared, throwing her hands up passionately as she moved over to the windowsill, looking over the rooftops of Paris and wondering what lay beyond the city walls.

         "I want the freedom for our home and country." She found herself humming, "I want it more than I can tell."

         Mathilde heaved a small smile before she looked back into the room, her gaze fixed on the person it was always fixed on. He was shuffling through his papers, making final adjustments, for the rally that afternoon.

          "And for once might be grand to have someone understand," She couldn't help but smile at the man so wrapt in his papers, "I want so much more than they've got planned."

          "I'm here!"

        All of a sudden, the trance that had come over Mathilde was interrupted by the calamitous entrance of none other than Marius Pontmercy.

        "Marius, you're—" Enjolras began, not even looking up from his papers.

         "Late, I know." Marius sighed, his breathing laboured as his face flushed red.

        "It's almost quarter past." Combeferre reminded Enjolras, who checked his own watch before giving an affirmative nod.

          The rally was to start at four, and with a fifteen minutes walk and set up time, Enjolras was keen for the group to set off well before half past two.

         "We should move." Enjolras agreed with Combeferre, as he rose from his seat, looking over at the boys, as Mathilde perched on the windowsill. "Good luck, gentlemen." He collected his papers in his hands, "May this rally be the first of many successes."

         "Alright, let's go." Combeferre ordered, as the men all rose from their seats, grabbing various pieces of equipment as they went.

        Amélie and Gavroche were handed small piles of pamphlets and hastily ran from the room, giggling as they did so.

        Everyone slowly filtered out of the room until only one was left behind with the blonde girl.

         "Enjolras?" She asked, slipping off the windowsill and looking to the man, who looked up as she said his name. "How are you feeling?"

         "Just so." He nodded, shuffling his papers again. She pressed her lips together in disbelief, she could tell his nerves were being tested.

         "You'll be fantastic, I have utmost faith." The blonde confessed as she made her way over to him. "Good luck."

          "Thank you." He said, with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Come on, then."

***

        THE ATMOSPHERE WAS electric, a large crowd had gathered and could not have responded better to Enjolras as he stood on a raised platform with Courfeyrac and Combeferre either side of him.

        The crowd applauded as the rally came to a close due to the police beginning to intervene.

        The three boys jumped down from the platform, as the rest of the men seized all our equipment and ran.

        Amélie was giggling as she grabbed her older sister's hand and pulled her down a nearby alleyway, following Marius who was holding onto Gavroche.

        They ran for a good while to be sure they'd cleared off the police before coming to halt in another quarter not far from the Musain.

          "Good work everyone!" Enjolras cried at everyone before him, holding his crumpled speech in his hands. "I thank each of you for your help." He was slightly out of breath but smiled as a result of the ecstasy present at the rally. "We shall meet again this evening to review the rally."

         The boys broke out into a small applause, Courfeyrac whooped as he spun Amélie around who squealed in delight.

        After a couple of seconds, the men began to break off to return to their homes or run errands in the short time that they had before the meeting.

        However, Mathilde did the opposite, she approached the leader in red with a wide grin plastered across her face.

         "Enjolras, that was fantastic!" She smiled with glee, as the leader's face lit up upon seeing her happiness.

         "Wasn't it?" He replied in the same gleeful tone that was a stranger to the blonde girl and yet suited him terribly well, "The people— they responded so well." He gushed, very overwhelmed.

         Mathilde couldn't help but smile at the man before her, so wrapt with glee. His smile finally seeming at home on his face. Out of the blue, he took her hands in his, and looked at her solemnly.

         "We might actually have a chance, Mathilde." He breathed, his smile breaking out once more.

        "Of course we do!" She cried in response, squeezing his hands slightly, "You were incredible."

         "Thank you." He said, bashfully, as a faint blush made its way up his neck, he cleared his throat with a soft cough before proposing, "Would like to accompany me back to the café? That is unless you have other plans?"

        "I have no plans." The blonde smiled, coyly, "I'd be glad to join you."

       He let her hands go, gently, before presenting her with his arm.

         "Shall we?" He said with a quirk of his eyebrow, Mathilde shook her head with a small smile and roll of her eyes before taking it and proceeding down the street with the leader in red.

        The first few minutes were spent in a comfortable silence as they soaked in the success of the rally, until Enjolras broke the silence and turned to the blonde.

         "I partly owe the success of the rally to you." He said, selflessly, looking at her with a look she didn't recognise upon his features.

         "I doubt you do." She corrected him, furrowing my eyebrows in slight confusion.

         "You helped me with the speech." He reminded me, "Without a speech there would have been no rally, Mathilde." He said, with utmost sincerity. "Allow me to profess my gratitude?"

        A hearty chuckle left her lips at the man's before replying with a small roll of her eyes. "If you must."

       He stopped all of a sudden, and with a slight nervous disposition — that seemed very out of character for the man — he reached for her hand.

        He took it in his two hands and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The girl's breath hitched slightly and it took all of the strength she had to not fall over in excitement.

       Still holding her hand in his two, Enjolras looked at her, sincerely, "I'm proud to say I couldn't have done it without you, Mademoiselle."

        "I'm glad that I may have helped." She replied, in barely a whisper.

***

"BONJOUR, MONSIEUR ENJOLRAS."

The trio of barmaids smiled at the man whose arm was linked with Mathilde's upon their entrance to the Musain, some fifteen minutes later.

They stood very suggestively at the bar, twirling their hair around their fingers, flashing him sickly smiles.

"Ladies." Enjolras responded, jaw clenched and eyes ahead of him as he led Mathilde towards the other end of the Café and up the stairs.

A small laugh left the blonde's lips once they were out of earshot of the barmaids and about to enter the meeting room.

"What are you smirking at?" Enjolras asked, wearing a small smirk of his own.

"Oh, nothing, Monsieur Enjolras." She replied, impersonating the barmaids beneath them, Enjolras let out a small scoff as she took her arm back from him. "I just can't help but marvel at the blueness of your eyes, they're bluer than the ocean I dare say, or your hair, your boyishly handsome hair—"

"Alright, enough of your frolicking." He tried to say sternly but failed to hide the smile forming on his lips. "You know I only have eyes for one."

"Ah yes, our darling, Patria." Mathilde gushed, pressing a hand to her heart. "And what a fine one she is."

He shook his head at her, giving up on hiding his smile, as her hand darted forward to reach the door handle.

"May I get the door for you Monsieur Enjolras?" She asked, reverting to her impression as she opened the door to the meeting room. "Would you like a drink Monsieur Enjolras? Perhaps, you would like—?"

"Stop it!" He cried, his smile wide and his eyes alive.

"I don't think I shall," The blonde objected, folding her arms, laughing as she did so. "I'm finding this utterly amusing." She added, making her way towards him.

"I could always make you stop." Enjolras replied, folding his arms and mirroring her stance as he took a step closer toward her.

Mathilde raised an eyebrow before giving a small scoff, squaring her shoulders.

"I'd like to see you try, M'sieur."

His eyes flashed suddenly, and before the blonde could say another word, the marble man had — quite literally — swept her off her feet.

The girl let out loud exclamation of surprise before it was quickly enveloped in a hearty laugh as her arms fastened around his neck to hold on.

"Enjolras! Put me down!"

        She doubted her complaints could be heard over his booming laughter which was like music to her ears.

          "And what's going on in here?"

         Their laughter stopped. Both Mathilde and Enjolras' gazes fell to the door where a rather smug Madame Houcheloupe stood, folding a cloth in her hands.

        Without a second thought, Enjolras set the girl back down on her feet and his marble barrier built itself back up again, as he faced the woman.

         "Nothing." They both said hurriedly, as they took a step away from each other.

         "You both do make a fine pair." Madame smiled, as she entered the room and collected the spare glasses lying on the tables.

         "Madame, we are not a pair." Enjolras corrected her, causing Mathilde's smile to fall slightly. "You should stop that; matchmaking is not a healthy hobby."

         "I apologise Enjolras, my boy," She said, but my words seemed insincere, "but I haven't seen you this gleeful in months, one can only presume that it something to do with the arrival of a certain young lady."

        The blonde gave out a small chuckle, just loud enough to catch Enjolras' attention as his gaze flittered to her before returning to Madame.

         "Well, that would be an incorrect assumption, Madame." Enjolras declared, clearing his throat.

        "I don't believe you." Madame replied in a singsong voice, as she walked toward the door.

         "And why is that?" Enjolras countered, folding his arms, eyebrows furrowed.

        Madame stopped just as she was about to descend the staircase.

         "Because your cheeks are the same shade as your jacket." She retorted with a raise of her eyebrows, sparing Mathilde a wink before vanishing from sight.

        The blonde struggled to contain to her laughter as she meandered over to Enjolras whose face was in fact the same colour as his jacket.

         "Oh, I hope Madame didn't embarrass you there, Monsieur Enjolras." She gushed, her barmaid impression taking over once more. "Is there anything I can do to numb the pain, Monsieur Enjolras?"

         "Have you not learned your lesson?" He turned to me, with a tired smile resident on his lips.

         "It appears you're not a very good teacher, Enjolras." Mathilde retorted, taking a step closer to him.

         "Are you sure it's me that is the problem?" He countered, quirking his brow a little, "I can't say you're much of a student."

         "I'd bet I was a better student than you ever were." The blonde smirked, as he took a step closer to her.

          "It's not very ladylike to go around making bets." He said, seriously with a small smile.

         "You know I'm not troubled by appearing ladylike, Enjolras." Mathilde said, with a smirk, taking another step toward him, "I'm here alone with you, those of a higher caliber may think that highly inappropriate." She added, boldly.

        "Maybe." Enjolras smirked, his eyes not leaving her face.

         Then, without warning, he took a step back clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck, nervously. Perhaps suddenly overwhelmed by the proximity.

         "So, do you have any notes on the speech?" He asked, drawing up a chair to sit on.

         "A few." She replied, slightly disheartened by his change of subject. "I gather you'd like to hear them?"

         "Indeed, I need a spectator's perspective." He nodded, pulling back a chair beside him. "Have a seat."

***

       SOME TIME HAD PASSED; the hour was well approaching nine o'clock, and both Mathilde and Enjolras were still discussing the rally.

        At ten to nine, the blonde found her feet carrying her downstairs to grab some water for herself and Amélie.

         Her head was still spinning from her encounter with Enjolras, a smile tattooed onto her face. However, this ditziness caused her to crash into another being with utmost clumsiness.

          "Oh, Joly!" She cried in surprise, "I'm sorry I didn't see you there." She apologised, wincing slightly at her stupidity.

         "Not a problem, Mathilde!" He replied, rather jovially for someone who had just been crashed into.

         This made her slightly suspicious as she looked over her dear friend, who in every mannerism was obviously elated.

        "God above, Joly, look at you." The blonde gushed, taking his flushed face in her hands, "You're practically beaming, what on earth has caused to become so flushed."

        He removed her hands from his face and took them in his own, stuttering slightly, seemingly struggling to express his delight.

         "Well, you see—" The doctor began, "I asked Chetta to marry me!"

          "Really?!" Mathilde exclaimed in response, squeezing his hands. "What did she say?!"

         "Well, she said yes, evidently!" He stated with a small roll of his eyes, his smile never fading. "It was all very spur of the moment, with the success of the rally and everything — it just felt right."

          "Oh, Joly!" The blonde cried, pulling him in to hug him tightly, "Congratulations, that's such wonderful news! I'm so happy for the two of you."

         "Thank you." He said, solemnly, as he pulled out of the hug, "I'm going to tell the boys now."

         "Of course, let's hurry!" She beckoned, seizing his hand in hers — all though of water completely dismissed — and tugging him through the bar and up the stairs.

          "Boys!" The blonde yelled, as she and Joly ran up the staircase, "Boys!" She repeated, entering the room, successfully grabbing the attention of the people there. "Joly has news!"

         Joly seemed slightly overwhelmed at her introduction of him, not used to the level of attention he was getting.

         "Good evening, everyone." He said, slowly. "Um, I just thought I should let you know..." He mumbled, "Musichetta and I are to be married."

         As soon as the words left his mouth, the room erupted into gleeful applause as everyone celebrated the news.

         "Bravo, Joly, my man!" Courfeyrac cried, clapping him on the back. 

         "So, you finally manned up, I see!" Grantaire mused, shaking the doctor's hand as he said so.

        "Alright, settle down, men." Enjolras called, putting the eruption to an end. "Many congratulations Joly. To both you and Musichetta."

         "Oh, when will it be, Joly?" Mathilde gushed as the room fell quiet.

          "You have to be patient, Mathilde." He smiled with a small shake of his head.

          "But I adore weddings, please tell!" She whined, her smile not budging off her features, as the doctor had no choice other than to concede.

         "Alright, if you must know," Joly sighed, tiredly, although a humoured smile remained on his lips at the eagerness of the girl. "We'll marry in the spring."

         "Oh, that'll be simply gorgeous." The blonde smiled, dreamily at the prospect, although she couldn't deny the part of her that felt a twinge of envy at the news. "Congratulations, again."

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