Black, The Dark of Ages Past

At the End of the Day

**Mirielle is pictured above**

June 
1828

Mirielle was surprised to hear Ismérie humming as she worked. The two girls were in the kitchen, preparing for dinner while Mademoiselle Lefevre was playing cards with friends and Fabien was finishing up in his shop. It was a song she didn't recognize. She paused in what she was doing and looked over at her friend.  Ismérie seemed completely focused on her current chore; cutting up vegetables. Mirielle cleared her throat, "What are you humming?"

  Ismérie looked up and smiled sheepishly, "A lullaby that my grandmother used to sing to me." 

"I've never heard one like that before."

"That's because it's not French."

Mirielle didn't press any further. Her friend's tone sounded uncomfortable; her heritage was no secret to Mirielle, but it had always been a source of sadness for her. Society was cruel to anyone different. There was a time when Ismérie held her head high; she had not viewed herself as any different from those born in France of completely French parents. Mirielle recalled how fond she was of her grandparents and their stories. The fact that she was humming the song meant she was thinking about them and it was making her sad or something was making her happy. Either way, once Mirielle mentioned it, the younger girl became sad.    She quickly changed the subject.

"How have your charity meetings been going?"

  Ismérie looked surprised that Mirielle was even asking. She felt uneasy, "They've been fine. Quite interesting actually. Monsieur Enjolras is quite... passionate about helping others."

Mirielle hummed as she checked the chicken, "Perhaps I should come to a meeting."

  Ismérie panicked, but tried to compose herself. Her body stiffened and she seemed to cut more slowly. Inside, her stomach was doing flips. She knew very well that Mirielle being involved with Les Amis would be risky; she didn't care for politics, but she did care for peace. Public disorder and violence were disdainful. In the simplest of terms, she was loyal to whoever was in charge; a loyal follower of the law.

"I'm not sure, Mirielle. What we see is absolutely terrible... You don't exactly have a stomach for seeing others suffer..."

"That is true, but that is exactly why I want to help."

Just then, there was a sharp rapping at the door. Mirielle rushed over, thinking it was Mademoiselle Lefevre. But, Ismérie knew better. Seven sharp raps meant it was Enjolras coming to get her for a meeting. She quickly tried to cut off Mirielle, "I'll get... it..."

It was too late. Enjolras was standing in the kitchen, his head bowed, "Mademoiselle Mirielle, always a pleasure. Mademoiselle Chénier."

Mirielle looked confused while Ismérie did a short curtsy, "Monsieur Enjolras."

Mirielle cleared her throat, "Monsieur Enjolras, what brings you here this hour? We were preparing for dinner."

Enjolras looked at Ismérie and then returned his gaze to Mirielle, "We have a meeting tonight. I came to collect Mademoiselle Chénier. I'm sorry if I have come at an inopportune time."

"But it is late, Monsieur."

"I understand, but it had to be late tonight. Some had school and work. Tonight, we're planning our rounds on Rue Saint-Denis for Saturday."

"I'll get Monsieur Lefevre."

  Ismérie exchanged a look with Enjolras, who merely gave her a comforting smile. It didn't take long for Mirielle to return with Fabien, whose clothes were blackened where the smock didn't cover, covered in sweat. His cheeks were flushed, either in embarrassment, from the fire, or frustration. Mirielle walked over to wear Ismérie  has been cutting the vegetables previously and began to cut.