It was several weeks later when she saw him again. She had forgotten his face, but never his kindness. When his golden head turned the memory flooded through her. He was walking quickly and his stride never faltered. He turned his head again and his face disappeared. The money he had spared her was gone however the bruises that night had costed her had only begun to fade. Her feet moved on their own accord.
He turned. His eyes found her face. His own face was full of composure, beautiful composure. Despite his evident mood he stopped walking.
"Monsieur," she repeated, "You remember me?"
For a moment he was silent, "Oui." He replied
He offered a nod, his frown dissolved but ceased to smile. She stared back at him but quickly flashed her eyes to the ground. It was quiet and she began to feel the blood pulsing through her cheeks, something rather foreign to her.
"Where are you going Monsieur?"
"To offer my condolences to a poor widow." He replied gravely
"You know her well?"
"My Aunt." He said
"I am sorry," She said quickly, "You are kind to see her."
His stern mask cracked for a moment. A bitter smile passed over his face.
"I should doubt she'll think the same" he stared at her, "Desolee Mademoiselle. May I assist you?"
His face was warmer now; it seemed to glow in a still tranquility. He was handsome. She timidly laid a hand on his arm. Her bony fingers gave a quick squeeze before she dropped them. He seemed surprised by her gesture. He reached into his coat pocket.
"What is your name Mademoiselle? I'm afraid we were too quick for introductions our first encounter."
"Eponine. And you are Enjolras."
His lips tugged upwards. Emerging from his pocket came a hand filled with coins.
"I don't want that." She cried embarrassed
He looked down at her defiant face hesitating for a moment.
"A payment. Would you deliver a message for me?"
"Oui. To my Aunt." he said gently, "I fear my company will disturb her rather than comfort. She lives on Rue de la Pomme. Number 17."
Her indignant frown subsided, "I can."
He paused in a pensive reflection.
"Tell Madame that her husband is now at peace… And that Julian is sorry." He said quietly
He enclosed her hand with coins.
"Why should she be disturbed?" she cried
"An old disagreement."
"What was the disagreement?"
"Tell me Eponine, do you believe in freedom for the oppressed… for a future of things greater than the streets of Paris?"
"I'm not sure I understand."
"You would be wise to do so."
He dropped her hand and it fell heavy against her hip.
He turned a departed walking steadily away from her.