Raise the Flag of Freedom High

Victoire

"Fresh bread, fresh bread! A loaf for a sou!" I call.
Not a single person in the square even glances at me.
I sigh. Most days Papa and I end up eating my wares ourselves. No one has any money to buy themselves dinner.
I know I'm lucky that my father is a skilled enough tailor to sell to the bourgeoisie. At least I have two meals a day.
For the thousandth time I curse the people who could do something but didn't.
"Fresh bread, one loaf for-" I stop shouting when someone else drowns me out.
"Where are the leaders of this land? The leaders who were supposed to care for the people?" the voice shouts. I look for the source and find it in a young man standing above a crowd. His curly blond hair stands out against his bright red coat. Pinned to it is a rosette in the French colors: red, white, and blue.
Another young man next to him speaks up. "Only one man, General Lamarque,  speaks for the people here below." He has nice features. Jet black hair and a dignified air. He wears the same patch on his brown coat.
"But Lamarque is ill," he continues. "He won't last another week."
"The people are angry!" the other cuts in. "How long before they rise? How long before we rise as a nation to cut the fat ones down to size?"
"Before the barricades arise!" the black-haired one cries.
"Vive la France! Vive la France!" A chant begins within the crowd.
To my surprise I find myself shouting it along with the rest. The speakers' words haven't found deaf ears.
Suddenly a group of policemen appears. I'm at the edge of the crowd and am able to slip away in the fray.
Unfortunately I wasn't watching where she was going.
"Ugh!" I grunt as I crash into a young man. A loaf of bread in my basket bounces out.
"Oh no!" I cry as a little boy pounces on it. "You give that back!"
The young man I'd bumped said, "Give it back, Gavroche."
"No," the boy says insolently.
"Hand it over!" the man orders.
"She has another," Gavroche points out. Quickly I cover the basket.
"It's fine," I say. "The little gamin can have it."
The boy sticks his tongue out at me and runs away towards the Elephant.
The man helps me up. "I'm sorry about Gavroche. He's always been rather... independent."
"Hmph. No reason to be insolent," I reply as I study his face. He has sharp, bold features. Brown hair, green eyes, a splash of freckles barely noticeable across his rather wide nose. I notice that he also has the patch that the speakers had worn.
"My name is Coeur de Droit." He bows.
Charmed, I smile. "I am Victoire Laurents."
"Pleasure to meet you," de Droit says.
"And you. Tell me, what is that rosette for?" I point.
"I am a member of a group known as Les Amis de l'ABC."
I stifle a laugh. "That's an odd name."
"We're dedicated to the representation of the people," he continues with a smile. "We protest the government's treatment of France's citizens."
"Good for you! Someone needs to take care of us," I say with a passion I hadn't known I'd possessed.
"I'm glad to hear you think so," de Droit says. He hesitates, then adds, "We're waiting until there is no voice left in the high ranks to launch a revolution."
"You mean General Lamarque," I say. "But surely it won't come to revolution."
Gravely he nods. "I'm afraid it might. We hope the people will rally with us."
I frown. "They might not. The last revolution left them scarred." I hadn't been born yet, of course, but my grandfather remembered it and had told me all about it before he died.
De Droit looks away. "That's what I'm afraid of. Sometimes Enjolras doesn't realize everyone's as brave as he is."
"Enjolras?"
De Droit returns his attention to me. "Our leader. He was the blond one speaking today, along with Marius Pontmercy."
I nod. "I see."
We stand in silence, hearts beating, until he asks, "Shall I see you home?"
I nod. "Thank you."
We discuss politics until we arrive at the Papa's tailor shop.
"I hope I shall see you again, Mademoiselle Laurents," de Droit says.
"And I you," I reply genuinely. "And," I add, "You may call me Victoire."
"Thank you. In that case, know me as Coeur."
I smile and bite my lip. Something quivers in my breast. "Good-by, monsieur- Couer."
I nod as I turn into the store.