A Heart Full of Love? ( Eponine )

[Deleted]

Combeferre pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and then looked up at the clock ticking on his wall for the umpteenth time. He had said ‘tomorrow afternoon’, but had been too excited to say a specific time—what if she didn’t show up for their lesson? What if she changed her mind? What if something had happened to her when she was walking to his flat? A thousand possibilities coursed through his head, and at one point he was convinced that he should go looking for her. He was shrugging on his coat, but then he realized that she could show up a few moments after he left.

Unsure what to do, the medical student sat down at the piano his parents had sent him as a gift his last birthday, and sifted through the sheet music lying on top until he found Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. If she was not there in fifteen minutes, which was how long he calculated it would take him to get through the piece’s three movements, then he would assume something was wrong and go looking for her at the address she had given him.

His hands glided over the keyboard as he started the first movement. Although his playing was flawless—he had been doing this since he was six at his mother’s request—his mind was elsewhere. Would he be a good teacher? He had tutored his friends before, yes, and they all credited him as being a good tutor, but this was different. For one thing, she did not have his friends’ education—which he did not see as a setback. She was an intelligent woman, he could tell that from the way she spoke and her willingness to learn in the first place. Those were both qualities he found quite admirable.

It was a wonder he had not thought to speak to her before. He had enjoyed their conversation the previous night. Even though she had been hesitant to give them, he valued her opinions. He was willing to make objections to certain parts of Enjolras’s plan thanks to the new way of thinking she had exposed him to—they could not necessarily rely on the people to stand behind them, because the people could not afford to think ahead to a revolution. They needed to relieve their immediate needs. He knew that Enjolras and his friends would disagree, but at least he was representing someone who this war would actually affect. He frowned in both concentration and worry as he began playing through the second movement, glancing up at the clock as his fingers danced across the keys.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Never before had she felt so out of place. Carriages rolled by, trundling the well to do from one leisure to another. Women in bright dresses walked beneath lacy parasols with gentlemen in pristine waistcoats. The homes were grander than any she had ever seen and seemed to gleam in the late afternoon sun. Everything about her looked immaculate, as if dirt and grime didn't dare fall in this area of Paris. And in the middle of it all stood Eponine with her bare feet and dingy face, her hair clinging to her head from the sweat and dust weighing it down. An ugly blemish on this otherwise perfect scene. She didn't belong here, and she knew it. Moreover, the looks she was receiving from many a strolling couple told her they knew it too. Since setting foot on this street, Eponine had been even more on her guard than on Rue Saint-Denis. She was careful not to bump into anyone or keep to the sparse shadows, for fear of being accused of robbery. Already many of the citizens looked ready to call for an inspector at the sight of her.

All this when she had a perfectly legitimate reason to be there. And that thought drove Eponine onward. Every time she felt fear rise up in her chest at the click of military boots or the clop of horseshoes behind her, she pictured herself and Marius in their own corner of the cafe, her regaling him with some book she'd just borrowed from Combeferre. When a snobbish couple crossed the street to avoid her, she thought of Marius's smile as he asked her opinion on some passage of text. Every time her resolve weakened, she thought of him and it grew stronger than ever. She had done nothing wrong and had every right to be on the Rue de Valette. Let them stare at the outsider among them. Let them tell her she had to leave with each look. Let them even sic the police on her. She was faster than any of them and nothing would stop her from reaching Combeferre's flat.

So with head held high, she climbed the stairs at Number 35. No doubt having a woman of her station going to his flat on a regular basis would do some damage to Combeferre's reputation with his neighbors. Eponine made a note to lay her hands on an apron or other cleaning supplies for next time, to spare him the inevitable gossip that would come with her visits. She would not cause him anymore grief or discomfort than she already had, after he had been so kind to her. She raised her hand to rap her knuckles against the solid door, but stopped short. Drifting from behind the door she heard a lilting tune played out on piano. It was nothing like the lively, sometimes bawdy, music that would fill the inn of her childhood. It was far more complex and seemed to swell and ebb as if it were a living, breathing thing. She stood there outside the door, transfixed by the rise and fall of the melody. The driving beat made her heartrate speed up as it crescendoed up louder and louder. And all too soon with a couple final chords, it was over. It took Eponine a moment to collect herself and finally knock on the door, breaking her out of her reverie.

[Deleted]

Piano lessons had been something his mother had suggested and then forced him to take once both of his parents realized that he had no interest in hunting or riding or shooting. Horseback riding was tolerable for Combeferre—as it was a necessity to get around whenever a carriage or fiacre was not available—but the other two activities brought him no joy. He despised violence from an early age, and when his father had tried to take him on one of his hunting trips, he had screamed bloody murder. That was the end of that.

To keep him occupied with something other than reading books, his mother had come up with the idea of his taking up an instrument. Combeferre had protested at first, but then he grew to like playing the piano. He was, after all, learning a skill—and he saw it as a valuable skill. Music required thinking—which he obviously was good at—and in a way it relaxed him. But now, that was not the case. Music brought him no comfort now because his mind kept drifting back to Eponine—what if she was hurt? What if she needed his help?

As soon as Combeferre finished the third and final movement, he sprung from his bench and grabbed his coat and hat from the stand next to the door. As he pulled on the overcoat and hat, his mind was seized by a foreign fear that was perhaps irrational, but at the moment he did not care. Something had happened, that was the only explanation. She seemed just as eager—well, maybe not just as eager, but eager enough—for their lesson yesterday, and there was no reason for her to simply skip aside from something terrible having happened to her. He reached for the doorknob just as he heard a knock, and when he opened it, there was his protégé standing right in front of him. “Oh! I-come in, please.” He stood aside for her and then took off his hat and coat.

“I…er I thought something had happened.” he explained sheepishly. “I forgot to give you a definite time, and then I looked at the clock and…well I was worried, and I was going to go looking for you.” he explained, stumbling over his words. Why was he always so flustered whenever they spoke? Maybe it was just because he was not used to speaking to women in general. That must have been it. “I’m sorry, it was my fault—i-in my excitement I must have forgotten.” he apologized. He hung up his coat and hat where they had been before and then turned around, smoothing out his frock coat. “Well then, shall we go to the study—oh, no wait, have you eaten?” He had forgotten that he was going to ask her that before they started to work. “B-because I was just about to have something myself, I was going to put on tea. I usually study when I eat and eat when I study…” Good God, why was he so ineloquent? “I mean, can I get you anything?”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

The door swung open a mere second after Eponine knocked, startling her. Before her stood Combeferre, dressed in his long coat and cap. Eponine feared for a moment that he had changed his mind or forgotten their lesson and was going out for the evening, but there wasn't surprise in his blue eyes, only a mixture of worry and intense relief at seeing her. She almost found his concern for her safety endearing as she stepped into his flat. Why was he stumbling over his own tongue so much? Was he that worried about her that even his usual meager way with words completely abandoned him? "I should think you'd be more worried for yourself venturing to my neighborhood than for me coming into yours," she said, turning to him with a smirk. "I keep telling you, the streets do not frighten me. I can take care of myself." It seemed she may have to hammer this point home to the young man. She was not a demure weak thing in need of protection.

As her gaze turned into the room in which she now stood, Eponine felt her breath catch. When she thought of her childhood, she remembered a distinct feeling of being a princess. To her young eyes, she had the nicest clothes and the finest toys. Her every need or desire was fulfilled. Her parents' inn was a castle. But it paled in comparison to the flat she now stood in. True, her childhood home might have been bigger, but it had housed so many people all the time. This much space, this many rooms, for one person was something foreign to Eponine. To say she was awestruck was an understatement. Her brown eyes traveled about the flat, coming to rest on the piano by the wall. "Was that you playing? It was beautiful." She declined to add how it had stopped her dead in her tracks the moment she had heard it. She still wasn't sure herself why it had had such an effect on her. Perhaps it was that she simply did not hear music like that often, if at all, in the slums. To Combeferre it may just be a normal occurrence.

She shook her head at his offer of food, despite the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Oh, no. I'm not hungry." Although Eponine had managed to pocket some coins through the day, she had used them sparingly, painfully aware she needed to make them stretch. The bit of bread she'd haggled a baker out of earlier in the day would just have to hold her through the night. Her pride simply would not allow her to take Combeferre's on top of the lessons he gave. Despite his claim that his flat could use some cleaning, Eponine found there to be almost no mess or clutter at all. Everything had a place and an order to it. She smiled briefly at the thought that he had tricked her into accepting his lessons for nearly free. It seemed he possessed some of the stubbornness people so often accused her of having. But Eponine had yet to meet her match. She'd find a way to hold up her end of the bargain, if she had to make the mess herself.

It occurred to her that he was losing his ability to speak coherently more with each passing moment. He was repeating himself and stuttering and looked to be as nervous as an alleycat. Had he never taught before? Was that what had him so nervous? Or perhaps he had simply never started a student with so little foundation to build on. His bright confidence from the night before looked to have vanished overnight. Eponine feared he was about to back out of their arrangement, that he had realized how little she knew already and how much work there was to be done. She had to act quickly. "Perhaps we should just get started." She crossed her arms across her corset, praying he didn't just send her home.

[Deleted]

Combeferre opened his mouth to reply to Eponine’s comment, but promptly shut it, defeated. She did have a point. “I’ve never had a problem in the past—I walk in that area a lot…but that’s a completely different matter entirely.” he protested weakly before shaking his head. “I’m sorry I just…I just worry, it’s a habit.” That was untrue because it was not, really. Joly was the one to get on edge about everything, not him. This whole thinking the worst could happen was a completely new experience for him, and he didn’t know why he was so concerned about her walking alone. He did not doubt that she could take care of herself but still, it was like the night before—he supposed he just didn’t feel it right for a lady ( and he did see her as such regardless of what she told him ) to be walking the streets of Paris by herself.

He silently watched as she took in the appearance of his flat. She looked rather shocked and at first he wondered why—then he realized that she was more likely that not not at all used to this sort of luxury. He then noticed that she was wearing the same clothes she had worn the night before. He felt a wave of pity pass over him, but he hid it, fearing that she would see it and take offense—and then leave. He smiled bashfully when she complimented him on his playing. “Yes, yes it was me—thank you, Eponine, you flatter me…all credit goes to the maker of this piano and Beethoven though. His music is beautiful, not my playing.” He didn’t know what possessed him to be so modest—usually when he was good at something he had no qualms with taking credit for it, and he knew that he was an excellent musician. He had been told by his parents, his dinner guests, and his friends on the rare occasions he obliged them with a song. But since the compliment came from her, it was somehow different.

“Are you sure? Some tea, at least?” Combeferre asked as he hurried off to the small kitchen area in an adjoining room, filling his kettle with water and setting it on the stove before emerging from the room. “I’ll brew enough for two if you do change your mind.” He then crossed the room and opened the door to the study—which admittedly he had cleaned before she arrived so that things at least looked to be in some semblance of order. There were three large bookcases lining the walls, all full of books of a plethora of subjects, surrounding a desk and two chairs in the middle of the room.

“Yes, yes of course.” He nodded at her suggestion that they start soon, and pulled out her chair prior to scanning one of the bookcases and pulling out Rhetoric. He sat down at the desk and took out his glasses from his coat pocket, slipping them on and then looking up. “Right, then. To start with, let’s first talk about what Rhetoric is about. What does rhetoric mean to you?”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine laughed casually as she looked over her shoulder at Combeferre. There was something in his shy modesty that touched her. He had such a gentleness to him that was charming, without making him appear weak. He was so different from the other men in her life. Save for Marius, they were rough and jaded, beat down by the hand life had dealt them. Even her own father, much as he loved her, lacked the warmth he used to have in his affection. When she thought of 'Parnasse or Pere or any of the others, she could not untangle their displays of feeling from the horrors she had seen them commit. Their affections had been forever tainted by the blood on their hands. But it was not so with Marius or Combeferre. Maybe that's why she desired to spend so much time in their company. Maybe that's why she loved Marius so much.

Even now, Combeferre's sheepish smile and modest reply to her compliment made her grin. Any other man she knew would have boasted about the complexity and difficulty of the piece, about how long it had taken them to master it, basking in the praise given them by a woman. But not Combeferre. He shook his head, passing the compliment along to a composer long dead. Eponine turned to face him, cocking one eyebrow. "Come now. If I tried to sit down and play that, it'd sound more like a drunken tavern song. You played beautifully." She leaned down in front of him, forcing him to make eye contact with her. When she finally locked her brown eyes with his blue, she smirked, raking her hair back to keep the gaze clear. "This is the part where you say 'Thank you' and leave it at that."

Watching him prepare some tea, Eponine realized she was not going to win this battle and quietly surrendered. She could still refuse the cup given to her or just leave it on the table in the study. And at least he hadn't pressed the issue of food, which she feared once presented to her on a plate, she wouldn't have the willpower to ignore all afternoon. Following him into his study, she was again amazed at the space. A whole room, just for books. Even in her childhood, the few books they did own were scattered throughout the inn, some in her maman's room, some in the kitchen, still others tucked away behind the bar. She knew Combeferre owed a lot of books, but she never thought it would be so many. And still despite the volume of books, everything looked to be tucked away nicely. She made a note to scold Combeferre for tricking her later, but instead gingerly took the seat he offered her. She tried to sit as far to the edge as she could, almost balancing on the balls of her bare feet for fear her dingy skirt would soil his fine furniture. Rather than putting her elbows on the desk as she was wont to do at the cafe or anywhere else, she folded her hands in her lap.

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly as he slipped his glasses on, looking down at his book. He looked every bit the studied professor, if a little young. She had no doubt he would go far in his pursuit, should he desire to continue. When he looked back up, Eponine realized she had been staring and shook her head, taking a moment to replay his question in her head. "Oh. Um... I'm sorry. I don't really... I don't know what it means." Eponine's voice dropped lower as she spoke, ashamed to admit her base education to him. No doubt he was just now realizing what he'd gotten himself into.

[Deleted]

There it was again—she had laughed again. Combeferre had noted it the night before because he had never heard her laugh, and he was surprised that she had now. He couldn’t help but smile at this—it was agreeable, much like her smile. To know that he had been the one to incite either reaction was…thrilling in a way, though why he found it that was beyond him. “Well, I…I don’t…” It was his turn to laugh, but nervously in his case, when she again complimented his piano playing. He was surprised when their eyes met, and for a moment he froze, transfixed and quite unable to speak. “I…I—yes, thank you.” he replied, heat spreading to his cheeks. He had to look away after a few moments because he simply couldn’t hold her gaze. It was…it was a lot of things, but he had found himself short of breath in the moment her eyes had locked with his.

He redirected his attention to the book, flipping through the pages until he reached the part that she was struggling with the previous night. He then looked up in anticipation of Eponine’s answer to the question he had posed. At her answer and her obvious embarrassment, he shrugged. “Well, that’s alright—it’s my job to teach you, nothing to be sorry about.” He stood up and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, contemplating how best to explain the concept to her. Once he had, he remained standing—he felt he would do a better job of teaching when he was on his feet—and began to explain, “Aristotle defines rhetoric as the faculty of observing in any given case the available means of persuasion. What I translate that as is basically ‘persuasion.’

He began to walk around the room as he spoke. “Rhetoric is the art of convincing people to either do something or think a certain way—for our purposes we’ll confine it to oratory or speechmaking. So what Enjolras uses whenever he makes a speech at our meetings is rhetoric. What a lawyer uses to defend his client is a type of rhetoric. Whenever someone’s having some sort of debate with someone else is also rhetoric. So there are many methods formal and informal of convincing people. For example the pamphlets that we hand out are also a type of rhetoric—just not the type that most people read Rhetoric to get better at practicing.” His written rhetoric was just fine, his speaking obviously needed work.

“So as you can see rhetoric can be used to do a number of things—the possibilities are endless almost. Thankfully Aristotle has taken the liberty of separating the different types of rhetoric, so that we, his disciples, will not get confused.” He stopped in front of the desk to pick up the book and flipped through it again to find the page he was looking for. His eyes glided over the page and then he handed it to her. “Could you read me the first paragraph of book one, chapter three starting with ‘Rhetoric falls into three divisions’?” he asked, adjusting his glasses.

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine's eyes followed Combeferre as he began to walk around the room. Whatever had effected his nerves before was completely gone and he looked to be totally in his element. Gone was the stuttering and mumbling. His speech was clear and smooth, his knowledge and interest in the subject obvious. Even his gaze had drifted up from its usual place on the floor to focus on the book in his hand. Eponine wondered briefly if this is what professors at university did, pacing the length of a room while regaling their students with their blessed knowledge on a multitude of subjects. She was suddenly struck with a feeling, that she was beyond lucky to be receiving such schooling, especially at such a paltry price.

Eponine knew plenty about persuasion, but she doubted the type she knew could be found in Combeferre's books. The persuasion she saw in her life involved threats and fear and weapons. Likely Aristotle had very little say on the kind of persuasion she had been subjected to and even used on occasion. Would he call that rhetoric too? The word seemed better suited to Enjolras and Combeferre and Marius. It was a pretty word, fancy and refined, not base and rough and dangerous. If anyone referred to their crude threats as rhetoric, it was only in mocking, trying to elevate or justify what they were doing to those around them by attaching an elegant word.

As Combeferre handed her the book, Eponine unfolded her hands from her lap and gingerly took it. Her lower lip found its way between her teeth again and she chewed on it thoughtfully as she searched out the passage he was wanting. Again the words seemed foreign to her, but she plowed onward, searching for any word she could recognize from what he had spoken. Fear welled up in her throat as she raked her head back, blinking at the text before her. Finally her eyes fell on the passage he wanted and she took a deep breath. "Rhetoric falls into three divisions, d-determined by the three classes of listeners to speeches. For of the three elements in speech-making--speaker, subject, and person addressed--it is the last one, the hearer, that determines the speech's end and object. The hearer must be either a judge, with a decision to make about things past or future, or an observer. A member of the assem- assembly decides about future events, a juryman about past events: while those who merely decide on the orator's skill are observers. From this it follows that there are three divisions of or- oratory. One: political. Two: f- for- forensic. And three: the ce- re- mon- ial oratory of display." Unsure how far he wanted her to read and convinced she had mispronounced a majority of the words, she finally looked back up at Combeferre, chewing her lip again. "How was that?"

[Deleted]

Combeferre too was very much aware of his own change in demeanor. He threw himself into his teaching with perfect focus and concentration. It was one of his gifts, being able to focus completely on the task at hand. Whenever the ABC meetings steered off topic, he had the ability to stay attentive and most of the time was able to help Enjolras direct them back on course. Perhaps that was one of the reasons his friends called him ‘the guide.’ He tried not to think about why he had been so nervous a few moments before. He reasoned that it must be because he was not at all used to teaching—that’s why he was attending university, to learn how to teach.

Maybe it was also partially because he did not want to fail her as a teacher. He believed wholeheartedly that in return for the education he had received because of his wealth and his social standing, he had a duty to spread knowledge to those who had not his opportunities. As he had often discussed with Enjolras and the other Amis, the key to a successful revolution—to him—was educating the people, then rallying them to their side. He did not want to stop at educating them about what Les Amis believed in, he wanted to pass on all their knowledge to them as well. The educated obviously had every advantage over the uneducated—they had a better chance for finding employment and building stable lives. If the poor were educated, Combeferre was certain that then they could begin to solve the deep-rooted problems in French society. Women would be no longer forced to sell themselves once they were given honest work. People would no longer be forced to steal, the orphans would have housing and schooling…

This was not about the revolution though or his lofty ambition of universal, free education for all the people of France. He was doing this because he wanted to—she wanted to learn, and he wanted to teach her. It was not done out of moral obligation or of duty. He wanted to help her, it was as simple as that. He watched silently as Eponine began to read the passage he had pointed out. She seemed to stumble over some of the bigger words at some points, but all in all, he was impressed. “Very good.” His praise was genuine and so was his smile. “Now let’s discuss what it means. There are three divisions, as I said. What are they?”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

A smile graced Eponine's face as Combeferre complimented her, relief washing over her. The fear that had twisted her stomach into knots slowly unwound itself, allowing her heart to settle back into chest where it belonged. She was all too aware of the short time they had before the revolution. The meetings she had listened in on were becoming more and more heated. The boys had moved from ideas to planning and now with Lamarque dead, it would not be long before life changed for all her friends. Whether or not it was for the better remained to be seen.

Eponine looked up at her teacher, seeing his smile on her and smiled back. He looked so young and happy, full of life, as he spoke about his books and the knowledge they contained. She hoped that her lessons could continue, even after what the boys were planning. She hoped they would succeed, that this new world they spoke of would come to pass. But at her core, she felt it wouldn't. She felt the best she could hope for was that they would make it out alive and mostly unharmed. The thought of them dying, of Courfeyrac or Combeferre, of Marius dying, seized her heart everyday, and she always pushed it down inside. She knew it was a very real possibility that one or all of them would not make it, but she refused to deal with it until the time came.

Thinking over what Combeferre had said to her, she shook her head. "Oh, um... Political. Which I guess is what you and Enjolras and the other Amis are doing," she ventured carefully, trying to pick her way through the concepts. "Ceremonial. Which is like... when someone makes a speech to a crowd?" She had once heard her father planning to go to a ceremony to pocket some coins from the attendees, but it wasn't a word she heard everyday. The last was completely unknown to her. "I don't really know what for- en- sic is." She was surprised to find her voice didn't quiet like it usually did when she admitted her lack of knowledge. Neither did shame or embarrassment tense her body like it was like to do before. Something in Combeferre's gentle nature put her at ease, and she felt she could admit her shortcomings and weakness without being judged. Or taken advantage of. And that thought made her smile.

[Deleted]

Combeferre froze yet again when Eponine smiled back at him, his focus shattering. Oh, why did this keep happening? It was not as if he had not seen a woman smile at him before—in fact he had many times either in the street while walking to class or at one of his mother’s ridiculous dinner parties. But none of them had ever left an impression on him like Eponine had. Her smile was very agreeable—radiant even—and it affected him in such a way that he was unable to recall what he had been thinking the moment before. The medical student gave a little chuckle and ducked his head, clearing his throat. It would not do for him to lose his concentration, otherwise there was no way they would get anything done.

Why was he losing his concentration? Surely it was because he was not used to lecturing anyone one-on-one like this? His professor had allowed him to address the class a few times, seeing his potential, and he had been completely in his element on those occasions. But now he stood dumbfounded because of something as inconsequential as a smile. What irked him was that this was not the first time he had been flustered by her, and he was concerned over what was happening to him. He settled on his behavior being due to the novelty of the situation—having never had a female student—and left it at that.

His grin returned as Eponine listed—and explained—the first two categories of rhetoric. “Wonderful, wonderful—that’s exactly right, I couldn’t have put it better myself! Political rhetoric is indeed what Enjolras and my friends specialize in—it deals with convincing the audience to make some sort of judgment on future policy decisions. In the case you mentioned, we are trying to convince the people to rise up against the monarchy. Ceremonial can also be when for example, at the university sometimes my professors have guest lecturers speak to us. The point of the speech isn’t to make a judgment necessarily, but to expose the listener to a new point of view. So I would consider any sort of lecture ceremonial. Forensic is in a way similar to political, but also very different. Aristotle says that where forensic deals with making judgments about events in the past, political deals with making judgments for the future. Forensic rhetoric is probably my weakest area—I’ve never studied it in depth or really had an interest to—it’s the type of rhetoric that is used in courtrooms. So a lawyer trying to convince the judge that his client is innocent of a crime would be called forensic rhetoric.”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Eponine furrowed her brow as Combeferre once again failed to meet her gaze. It seemed no matter how many times she tried to look him in the eye, he always looked away quickly, and it had been happening since they started speaking last night. Her mind was already mulling over the myriad of reasons for it, none of them good. Could it be he didn't see them as equal? That could not be it. She was his student, true, but if any of the Amis believed in equality, it was Combeferre. So what was it? Why did he wither under her gaze? Something was obviously bothering him even if she could not put her finger on it.

Then Combeferre mentioned a lawyer and Eponine's eyes flew open wide. Was that it? Did he know about her past, her life? She had stolen his book from him, but successfully dodged his question of her last name. And despite it all he was not upset about the book. In fact he was excited to be teaching her, unless she was reading him wrong. Even in her short life, she had seen the inside of too many cells to ever be considered a "fine upstanding citizen" again. Such was the life of a Thenardier. But she had never told the students about her past and the things she had done. She tried to keep that part of her life carefully hidden behind dismissive jokes and distractions. No one but Marius knew. Unless he had told and she could not bring herself to believe that.

After another moment or two, Eponine had to remind herself to respond. She bit her lip and nodded to him. "So a lawyer uses forensic speech. Like Marius? He's a law student, so that would be something he's learning, yes?" Quietly, Eponine made a note to read more on this type of rhetoric, thinking it a perfect starting point for talking to Marius. Especially if it was important for lawyers. She looked back up at Combeferre, brushing her hair back off her forehead. He was smiling at her again, causing her to smile back as she willed the tension in her shoulders to relax away. Part of her mind, the paranoid traitor in her head, warned her not to drop her guard. But it was quickly being drowned out by the kindness she saw in his face. "Why have you never had any interest in it?"

[Deleted]

Combeferre nodded at Eponine’s question. “Yes, exactly.” For some reason he bristled at her mention of Marius, but brushed it off, attributing it to his annoyance with the boy’s lack of focus. “I would imagine so, yes, I don’t know much about his curriculum.” They only had one class together, and that was philosophy. Combeferre was taking it because that was what he eventually wanted to teach, and he supposed Marius was taking it because the skills learned in philosophy could be applied to a career in law. Even so, Combeferre had no interest of pursuing an education in that area.

He blinked at Eponine’s question as to why he had no interest in reading law. “It’s…” He ran a hand through his hair and paused to think of how best to say it. “I daresay I just wouldn’t be any good at it.” That certainly was not what he told his own father—he wondered why he was being more honest with her than he had been with him. “It takes…certain skill to be able to practice law. One has to be outgoing, daring, well-spoken, eloquent—I am none of those things. And, because I have not the talent for the profession, I suppose that’s why I have not the interest.” If his father ever knew of his shortcomings, he would be even more ashamed. The Combeferres had been attorneys for generations, and had offices in both France and England. The fact that he refused to continue the family legacy was a disgrace in his father’s eyes, even though his eldest son at least had taken up the profession. Thankfully his mother was more merciful, because all she wanted was to see her son happy, but Combeferre could barely have a civil conversation with his father now.

“It’s not only that though…it’s…well in my experience, many, not all, of those who practice law are in it for the money. My father is a businessman first and an attorney second. He’s not concerned with using the law to help people. He wants to win money for the client and consequentially himself—and he’s made a fortune from it. I want to help people, not hurt them in order to make money—which is why I want to teach, and practice medicine.” Combeferre explained. “Perhaps I’d enjoy law if I felt I’d be good at it, and was able to find some way to use it to be of service to the people of France, but alas some things simply aren’t meant to be.”

[EPONINE THENARDIER]

Looking down at the book in front of her, Eponine smiled at the thought of Marius in class, impressing his teachers. She wondered what kinds of classes he was taking, what kinds of books he was reading. Perhaps she could sneak a look at them next time she ran into him. Maybe Combeferre would have some she could borrow if she could just get the titles. "Oh? What are you studying in that class?" If she could steer her lessons towards something Marius was interested in, she could make the most of the short time she had to take them. The sooner she could speak to Marius, the better.

Eponine watched Combeferre's face during his confession regarding his choice of study. He had a far off look to him that belied a deeper hurt than he was letting on. She found herself wondering why having such a lack of interest in law gave him such an almost downcast look, as if he was betraying someone. The corners of her mouth turned up in a reassuring smile. "Come now. Surely you don't believe that. You're more well-spoken than most of the people I know. And while you might not be the most outgoing person, you don't limit your social conversation to just those of your own station. Which to my mind makes you better than those snobbish bourgeois that look down their noses at people like me. And daring?" Eponine laughed lightly. "If I remember correctly aren't you and your Amis plotting to overthrow the state? Not daring?! That's the stuff legends are made of!" She threw her hands up to emphasize the enormity of her point, chuckling at him.

"But if you don't want to be a lawyer, then don't. It's that easy isn't it? I thought the whole point of your revolution was so people were free to choose what they wanted to do. Don't you already get to do that?So why be so down about it?" Folding her hands in her lap again, she tried to catch his eye again, to make him smile and cheer him up. It was the least she could do after all he had done for her in the short time they had known each other. "If it means anything, I think you'll be a great teacher. Or doctor. Whichever you set your mind to."

[Deleted]

“The class we have together?” Why was she so interested in what Marius was learning? He thought this was about what she wanted to learn. “Um…philosophy. So things like this, really. As for everything else he studies, he’d be the better person to ask, not me.” Honestly why did everyone think he knew Marius so well? First Cosette—which made sense to be honest since she was in love with him—and now Eponine. It should not have bothered him at all but he would rather not have him become the subject of all of their discussions—it would make for a very dull lesson.

Thankfully she seemed to be steering the conversation away from him without him intervening. He looked up when he saw her smiling at him—this time to comfort him, which for whatever reason stunned him but this time he was able to keep eye contact. He smiled bashfully at her compliment on him being well-spoken and the people he chose to speak with, and then chuckled at her last comment. “Well, there are different types of daring—I don’t think any of us consider ourselves to be particularly brave. I mean, we’re all willing to lay down our lives for France, but that’s simply because something needs to happen…” He was going to rant again about France’s social injustice issues, so he shook his head. “I freeze whenever I have to address a crowd—that’s why we decided as soon as we formed Les Amis that Enjolras was going to be the one who made the speeches. But thank you, your praises are noted.”

“A lot of it has to do with my father—we…we had a good relationship when I was young, before I went off to school. When I told him I wasn’t going to study law, he stopped speaking to me like he used to—I have the feeling Mother is the only reason he hasn’t disinherited me.” he stated with a laugh before realizing how far removed his problems were from her own. “I’m sorry I don’t mean to burden you with the tales of my familial quarrels.” He didn’t know why he was telling her all this, usually he was hesitant to talk about his father with anyone—even Courfeyrac. His blue eyes widened at her commendation and a pleased grin spread across his face. “Thank you—I, that really means a lot to me. Really. And for that, I really must offer you some tea. Should be ready about now…I’ll be right back.” He nodded and left the study for the kitchen, still smiling, to retrieve the beverage.