Lisette

Chapter 40 ~ A Dowry of Gold and Pearls

When I went to visit the little Fauchelevent household on Monday, I took a New Year's card with me to give them, with some sketches of the statues in the Luxembourg gardens drawn on the front of it. I was greeted at the gate by Monsieur Fauchelevent, and we walked down the usual long outside corridor between gardens back to the house. He spoke little, but suggested that after my time with Cosette, he could tell me the story of the woman he had mentioned before Christmas for the next pamphlet.

Cosette was full of her usual conversation, talking at length of how Christmas and New Year had been spent, and interested to hear how I had spent mine. She seemed fascinated by the students, and as I talked to her, I was able to illustrate my points about some of them with the little sketches I had of them in my notebook. Bahorel's dandified fashions amused her, while hearing of Grantaire's unrequited love (though I didn't specify exactly who he was in love with) almost drew a tear from her. On hearing that Joly insisted on having his bed magnetically aligned, she immediately sought to find out which way North was, to see how her bed would look magnetically aligned. Upon examination, though, it was decided that since it wouldn't align her bed with the walls, it was a theory best ignored - she couldn't possibly have a wonky bedroom.

"Perhaps we shall just have to rebuild the entire house, then," I teased.

"Or find another house?"

"Really? Is that going to be part of your requirements - that the house must be entirely square with the compass, so that you can have your bed magnetically aligned?"

"Well, he's a doctor, so there must be some truth in it. Is he the one who helped with your face?"

She didn't normally mention my face, in fact, in all the time I had known her, this was the first time she'd mentioned it.

"Yes - it was him and Combeferre."

"The one who insisted you go to the ball?"

"No, that was Courfeyrac. Combeferre's more reserved."

"I should like to meet all of them one day," she said, wistfully.

"Maybe you shall. Though I don't know what your father would think!"

*

I was on the verge of leaving when she dashed upstairs, with cry of 'I almost forgot!' and returned with a small bottle.

"I thought you might like this as a New Year's present," she explained giving it to me. "And then you can write me letters. And I can write you letters. I've never had anyone to write letters to before!"

"And what am I going to write in these letters?" I asked, half smiling. "It seems to me that most of what I could write gets said in person when I come and visit! Or are you telling me that you don't want me visiting any more?"

"No! Not that!" she exclaimed. "I don't want you to stop visiting. Maybe you can draw with it instead?"

I examined the bottle. It was a scented Italian ink, deep pink, and smelling of roses.

"It's lovely," I reassured her. "And I can write you letters if you like. Though heaven knows what I'll include in them that hasn't been said already! Maybe we should just send pictures to each other. That would be a way to practise your drawing."

She grinned at this, and I couldn't help but hug her.

"Now, I really should be going. Your father wants to talk to me before I go, so I should go and see him."