“Marius, for God’s sake, it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, wake up!”
“I am awake,” Marius mumbled.
Courfeyrac hoisted him up from the tiny round table and thrust him in the direction of the window. “Prove it, then!” Courfeyrac laughed animatedly, clapping Marius on the back. Marius, half asleep, despite his statement that he was otherwise, stumbled over.
Courfeyrac clucked his teeth, stooping down to help his friend to his feet. “Suppose it’s my fault anyways,” he said thoughtfully. “I drag you inside this dingy place so often you’re forgotten what daylight looked like.” Chuckling, he added, “Ah, the Café Musain! She claims the best of the Parisian youth!”
The formidable proprietress, earnestly polishing a wineglass behind the counter, grunted back, “If you don’t like it, then you’re welcome to leave! You boys are more trouble than you’re worth!”
“Oh, come now,” Courfeyrac replied. “That whole business with Grantaire last week won you many a patron!”
“Also cost me many a wineglass and two doors. Get out, Courfeyrac!”
The addressed shrugged. “I will oblige,” he answered. “Come on, Marius, I suppose our meeting with Enjolras will simply have to wait for another day.” The students left the café.
Walking the streets of Paris, Marius was silent. Courfeyrac tried several times to initiate some sort of conversation with him, but each time he was rebutted with Marius’ stubborn silence.
Finally, he could not take it anymore. “Marius, what is it?” he cried.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Marius, ever since that incident with Grantaire and Enjolras, you’ve been acting so strange! My friend, there must be some that’s ailing you; you’ve quiet, even for you! I mean-oh, I know…” Courfeyrac broke off, a mischievous grin forming on his lips.
“What?” Marius asked, worried already.
Courfeyrac laughed, and put his arms around Marius’ slender shoulders. “I know what it is. I know what you need!”
“What?”
“Oh, come now! I’m sure you know.”
“I can assure you I don’t.”
Courfeyrac cast a sly, sidelong glance at his companion, and declared triumphantly, “Marius, you need a woman!”
“What?!”
“That’s it! That’s exactly it! Don’t deny it, Pontmercy!”
“No,” Marius said flatly.
“Come on, friend, just think! Blonde hair, creamy white skin, slender waist, a beautiful voice-”
“Stop it, you may as well be describing Enjolras! And NO.”
“What is it about Enjolras?” Courfeyrac mused, scratching his chin. “Anyhow, this isn’t about him. It’s about you. How do you like them? Tall, short, skinny, round, blonde, brunette; between Grantaire and I, we know hundreds of them!”
Marius recoiled in fright. “Don’t get Grantaire involved!” he exclaimed.
Courfeyrac acquiesced. “Alright then, change ‘hundreds’ to ‘scores,’ but your options remain the same.”
“No,” said Marius.
“Yes,” said Courfeyrac. “You’ll fetch a great one, what with your clean good looks. One glance from your dark eyes should have any self-respecting girl at your feet in under a minute.”
“But I don’t want that-”
“Of course you do, you’re a man. Now come with me.” And Courfeyrac dragged Marius away, leaving cries of “No, no!’ echoing behind them.
Marius leaned miserably up against the palm of his hand, staring off into nothing. He could not believe that he had been dragged into six cafés already. Why am I letting Courfeyrac do this? Marius thought. This is terrible. I don’t belong here. And all those girls are giggling at me. It must be my clothes. He sighed. I really don’t belong here.
Marius was right about one thing; at every place he had visited thus far, groups of girls had congregated behind him, laughing and talking amongst themselves. What Marius did not realize, however, is that they were giggling because they found him attractive, not because his clothes were getting worn. But Marius had no way of knowing this. His experience with the opposite sex was extremely limited. So all day long, whenever a girl had approached him, he staunchly looked the other way, silent, but with his cheeks blushing furiously.
Courfeyrac was another story. At every location that day, he had found at least one girl who caught his eye. Marius looked over at him to see what he was doing at the moment. About six girls were gathered about him, chattering and flashing smiles, and there were several more eyeing him from various places around the room. Courfeyrac lapped up all of the attention with unabashed zeal, Marius noticed.
So Marius sat alone over in the corner, trying desperately not to be noticed.
Presently, a pretty brunette wearing a high cut grey dress came over to Marius’ table and sat next to him. Marius tried to ignore her.
“Hi,” she said, batting her eyelashes.
Marius didn’t look at her. A bright flush could be seen creeping over his shapely cheeks.
“My name is Danae,” said the girl, continuing to flutter her long black lashes.
Marius still tried to ignore her and said nothing.
Not discouraged, Danae asked him, “What’s your name?” while her eyelashes bat so intensely they looked like hummingbird wings.
Finally, Marius looked at her. Danae’s heart leapt at seeing how beautiful his face was. She winked him one last time to cement his attention. Marius was concerned. “Is there something in your eye, mademoiselle?” he asked. “It looks rather silly, the way you keep fluttering your eyelashes. You can use my handkerchief, if you would like.”
Danae’s face fell. “No, monsieur,” she replied, hurt. She sidled away.
Marius watched her go, confused. He then saw Courfeyrac, holding a big blonde girl in a cream-coloured dress, coming over to him.
“Marius!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, clapping his friend on the back. Marius winced. He looked at him wanly, and said, “Hi, Courfeyrac, who’s your friend?”
The blonde girl stuck out her hand instead and introduced herself. “I’m Fiera.”
Timidly, Marius took her hand, and replied, “Pleased to meet you,” unsure if he actually was pleased or not.
“Isn’t she great, Marius?” Courfeyrac beamed. “Anyhow, Fiera tells me that her friend, Julie, the small girl over in the corner with the curly brown hair, likes you.”
“Oh.”
Courfeyrac leaned in, eyeing the boy expectantly. “Don’t you want to meet her?”
“Of course he does!” Fiera answered for him, grabbing his arm, and hauling him over to where her diminutive friend waited. Courfeyrac beamed again, and whispered in the struggling Marius’ ear, “Isn’t she great?”
“Julie!” Fiera called. “Hello!”
Julie jumped up, her gigantic grey eyes wide open. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her chest, and breathed, “Hello.”
Marius did not like the looks of this.
“Julie, this is Marlon…”
“It’s actually Marius…”
Fiera waved him aside. “Either one. Anyhow, Julie, he’s a friend of…of…um..”
“Courfeyrac…” he supplied.
“Yes. And Marcel-”
“Marius.”
“Yes. Marius. He’s quite intelligent. He speaks several languages. And I think he’s a lawyer.”
“He’s awful pretty,” Julie intoned dreamily, inching towards the panicked Marius.
“Isn’t he though,” Courfeyrac agreed.
“Marius,” began Julie in a sing-song voice. “Would you like to come for a walk with me? You can gather some flowers for me. Please?”
Frozen with fear, Marius just stood there silent. After a moment or so, Courfeyrac nudged him in the ribs. “Pontmercy!” he hissed. “Say something!”
But Marius chose another alternative: he backed away for several paces, tripped over a chair, clumsily pulled himself up, and ran out the door.
“MARIUS! YOU SHY DOLT! STAY STILL!”
Guiltily, Marius halted and turned around. He faced Courfeyrac, looking none too happy, and Fiera, heaving and out of breath.
“Marius, why did you run out like that? That pretty girl liked you,” Courfeyrac said to him.
Marius didn’t answer.
“You hurt her feelings!” Fiera said accusingly.
“I’m sorry,” Marius mumbled. “I just wasn’t interested…I suppose.”
Courfeyrac smacked his forehead. Exasperated, he said, “Marius! You’re not interested in anyone! What? What is it? Are you interested in me?!”
“No! Of course not!” Marius turned bright red, either from embarrassment or anger or maybe a combination of both.
“Are you interested in her?” Courfeyrac challenged, roughly seizing Fiera, and half throwing her at Marius, despite her sounds of protest.
“No.”
“Well, then…are you interested in her?!” Courfeyrac pointed at a dirty, rag-clothed girl who was watching them intently from an alleyway.
“No…” Marius said, but Courfeyrac was already on his way to the girl. He pulled her up by the arm and dragged her over to Marius.
“Is this your type?” Courfeyrac demanded. “Poverty-stricken, lice-infested gamine roaming the streets of Paris?”
The girl turned around with a nasty look on her face.
“I don’t have lice,” she said. Then she savagely kicked Courfeyrac in the shin and ran off.
Courfeyrac cursed under his breath, muttering, “Damn good thing that’s not your type.”
“Courfeyrac, I’m sorry,” Marius began. “I know that this is important for you for some reason, but it’s not for me. I don’t want to have a different girl hanging around me each week. I want to find a girl on my own, not some bar-wench that you’ve thrown at me. All of this-” Marius gestured around vaguely. “is unnecessary. It just bothers me. That‘s all.” Marius quickly looked away, slightly embarrassed.
“Huh, Pontmercy, I wasn’t aware that you could string that many words together,” said Courfeyrac. At that, Marius looked hurt, so Courfeyrac went over to him and put his arm around his shoulders. “No hard feelings, Marius,” he told his friend. “At least look at it this way: the trip wasn’t a whole waste; I found Fiera here!” Laughing, Courfeyrac grabbed the blonde. She giggled.
“Do you suppose we can just go home?” Marius asked plaintively.
“Of course, Marius! I just hope you don’t mind if Fiera comes along for a few days; I’m a bit attached to her.”
Marius looked appalled.
Courfeyrac laughed at Marius’ shocked expression, and the three of them made their way home.
