Monday passed without incident, though I was somewhat later than I usually was in going to the drapers to take back the shirts I had sewn and to pick up some more linen, thanks to my stays taking so long to dry. Enjolras was out all day with lectures, and was engrossed in conversation with Joly on the way back from the Musain, so I had no opportunity to talk to him about Sunday evening, or to ask him what it was that he had been trying to say to me.
It was just after lunch on Tuesday that there was a knock at the door of our room. I was sat in the window sewing, and Enjolras, who had been on the verge of going out to a lecture anyway, opened the door. Musichetta was stood there, a bag over her shoulder.
"Is Lis in?" she asked. "I thought I'd come and visit her, but I didn't know if she'd be around."
"I'm here!" I called, getting down from the windowsill. "I didn't realise you were going to visit - this is a very pleasant surprise!"
Enjolras, having got over his slight shock at this unexpected visitor, invited Musichetta in.
"I'm afraid I'm just going out, but I'm sure Lis can host you perfectly well," he said. "I should be back around five at the latest."
As he left, Musichetta looked at me. "So that's the man Courfeyrac was saying is in love with you?"
I flushed. "Maybe?"
"Well, he's not bad looking. I wonder he doesn't already have a mistress!"
"From what the others have said, I'm the first woman he's ever properly looked at. He's never been particularly inclined towards taking a lover."
"And have you made up your mind over whether you love him?"
"So much for small talk!"
"That's avoiding the question!"
I could feel myself blushing even more, and wondered at what point it would be possible to fry an egg on my face.
"I think so. I've never fallen in love before - I don't know how you tell!"
She smiled. "Well, can you imagine life without him? How would you feel if he did take a mistress who wasn't you? Do you regard him with greater care and affection than you do any other young man?"
"Alright - in those terms, I do love him. I couldn't imagine life without him now, for all that it's only been a few months. But if he doesn't feel the same way - what then? I don't want to upend everything all for nothing."
"Courfeyrac thinks Enjolras is in love with you. And Courfeyrac is usually a pretty good judge of things when it comes to affairs of the heart. Though if Enjolras comes to the ball with you, I can try and give a second opinion, if you like? Speaking of which - " she pulled a pile of papers out of the bag she had brought with her, and set them down on the desk. "I've brought these with me. They're the last few months' copies of the Corsaire - Joly and Bossuet get it for the theatre and literature side of things, but it also has bits in it about fashion. I thought they might interest you as well, and that they could be useful in preparation for the ball."
Forgetting my sewing for a while, I came and joined her at the desk instead, flicking through the small daily newspapers looking for the 'MODES' section which talked about recent fashions. The logo at the top was familiar - I had seen some of the others reading it at the Musain before - but hadn't thought it anything more than a political publication.
"It seems to be quite random which ones have it and which ones don't - it's not like they have a fashion section every Friday, for example," Musichetta continued. "But from what Bossuet's said about you, you'd probably like some of the poems and plays that they print in serial, too. And it was easier just to bring them all, rather than sort through them."
"I like the sound of the a la Psyche coiffure!" I said, having found a 'MODES' section. "Lots of plaits, surmounted by a butterfly. Apparently the Marquise de S***, whoever she is, had her hair done like that."
"Well, with the spare ribbon we bought, we could probably fold some of it into a sort of butterfly to go in your hair. It won't be quite the same as one glittering with all diamonds and rubies, with the wings set en tremblent, but I'd imagine that's a little outside of your budget!"
"And a ribbon butterfly is probably going to be easier to achieve than ribbon shells like Madame D****."
"Ooh! Ribbon bows in hair are fashionable too! More fashionable than garlands of flowers flowers during this winter. You'll be a little behind the times, but aren't we all? Not like we can afford the fabric for the big puffy sleeves that all the ladies seem to be wearing at the moment. Thinking of which, what does the dress look like when you're wearing it?"
"I don't know! I haven't tried it on yet - it's back fastening, and I can't do it up by myself."
"I'm sure Enjolras would be more than willing to help you!" she grinned. "Go on - get it out, and let's see how it looks on you!"
Without needing much encouragement, though still trying to feign a certain amount of reluctance, I pulled the dress down from its cupboard and, handing it to Musichetta, shrugged off my jacket. As she did up the hooks and eyes down the back of the bodice, I carried on flicking through the magazines. An oddly shaped poem caught my eye, from one of the editions in February:
Vois cet auteur et sinistre et bisarre ;
Il a tout l'eclat d'un astre aux cieux.
C'est Hugo ! son style barbare
T'offre des vers rocailleux.
Oh! combien on t'envie,
Ronsard nouveau ,
Horrible, beau,
Un si haut
Genie !
O !
Grand Hugo,
Un sot te crie :
Haro ! ! haro ! ! !
Rien jamais ne t'irrite.
On te critique en vain ;
Tu suis toujours ton chemin ,
C'est bien ! on dira : quel merite!
Il vainquit la critique ; il etait
Victor de nom , il fut vainqueur de fait.
Looking over my shoulder to see what I was interested in, Musichetta commented: "Oh, Victor Hugo! They can't seem to make up their minds whether they like him or not in Le Corsaire. One day they're publishing his poetry, the next, they're saying that he can't write anything worth a damn. Or, rather, I think it was something along the lines of his poetry lacking no reasonable meaning, that it respected neither common sense, nor language, nor the ear, and that he takes weirdness for originality."
I couldn't help laughing. "I'll have to ask Jehan what he thinks of him! Is he one of the romantics?"
"I think so. I'm not sure if he's written any plays, or if he's only written poems... We ought to go and see a play one of these days. I'm sure we could arrange a big party of us. There." She turned me around to face her. "Beautiful. And I'm sure if I come over on the afternoon before the ball, I can put the front part of your hair in papers so you can have ringlets on the day!"
"That would be lovely, if you don't mind? I've never really had the chance to do anything interesting with my hair - I wouldn't know where to begin!"
"If you're going to Sceaux by Coucous with us, and catching it from the Place Louis XVI, you could always go through the flower market on the Ile de la Cite, and get some flowers for your hair, too. We can play around with arranging them once we get there, especially if we go early."
By this point, I was only half listening, and instead taking advantage of being able to twirl in the dress. Over the top of both of my petticoats, and with its own white cotton underskirt beneath the fine printed muslin, it held itself out. Not as wide as the fashionable skirts, but who has time for starched petticoats? The light cotton fabric swirled out prettily as I turned, and the frills at the shoulder flared out too.
"You'll need to pull down the neckline of your chemise, so it's in line with the top of your stays," Musichetta said, looking at the dress with a slightly more critical eye. "But that should be doable - it's drawstring, isn't it? If you want to wear fewer petticoats so that it's not so warm, you can always roll up your apron and use it as padding to hold the skirts out a bit more. And the bodice being gathered as it is hides any other imperfections of fit. Your Enjolras clearly has a good eye for your figure!"
"He's not my Enjolras!"
She grinned ay me. "Just you wait. Once he sees you dancing in that dress with flowers in your hair, he'll be all yours!"
Somewhat reluctantly, I let her undo the back of the dress again, and returned it to the cupboard. The fashions of the merveilleuses reported on by the newspaper sounded brilliantly hideous, and I couldn't help but think of some of them that I'd seen sometimes in the Luxembourg. Malta orange gloves weren't something I'd noticed, but gingham chemise dresses in such colours as lilac, blue, and rust (not individually, but all together!) were something that had attracted my notice. It would be interesting to see what sort of clothes Bahorel wore to the ball - apparently there were some waistcoats worn to balls now that were cut so low that you could see all three buttons of the shirt, and others where a fine linen was worn over a coloured cloth, so that the colour showed through. I had seen him wearing an Ouasian waistcoat though, made of a sort of fine cloth like what they wore in ancient Egypt, apparently.
"Are you any good at word games?" she asked, as I picked up my sewing again. "There's a little riddle at the back of each of the magazines - I'm always terrible at them."
"I probably won't be much better, but you can try me if you like! It's the sort of thing I can imagine Bossuet being very good at."
"He is," she nodded. "Once I know what the answer is, I can see where they're coming from, but beforehand, I don't have a clue." She wandered over to the bookshelf. "That's a lot of philosophy and history and law. And Joly said you were more interested in the classics, and novels."
"I borrow most of the books I read from Monsieur Mabeuf - he's a church warden for Saint Sulpice, and lives just round the corner. Which isn't to say that I mislike histories, but to read only histories is a little heavy going. Do you read at all?"
"Mostly novels. But I like looking at Joly's medical books - sometimes I wish I could be a doctor. Not a midwife or a nurse, but a proper doctor - someone who knows all about what's going on inside people, and who can help them. Not that I'd be allowed to."
She sighed, and pulled out her own sewing from the bottom of the bag. "I don't work as much as you do - Joly has enough of an allowance that he's able to keep me, too, but it's bad to be out of work for too long. You lose the habit of it. Before I met him, I worked in a milliner's shop, but being on your feet all day, and dealing with awkward rich girls who just come in to waste your time..."
"I'm lucky enough to enjoy my work - to enjoy sewing. Though I sometimes wish I could do finer or more interesting work. And, of course, I always wish it paid more!"
"I don't dislike sewing," Musichetta said. "It's better than being a shop girl, even if it pays worse, and it's nice to be able to do it socially. But like I said, there's work I'd rather do, for all that it isn't possible."
"Maybe if the boys manage to reform the world, you'll be able to have your wish. In the meantime, perhaps with the better weather we can work together sometimes. It's nice to have someone to talk to, and there are always interesting people to watch in the Luxembourg."
She smiled. "That would be nice. It's always more pleasant working outside, rather than being cooped up by a window all the time. Not that this isn't a very nice window - my room is on the ground floor, and it's a narrow street, so there's less light than in here."
Neither of us had any way of telling the time, but she stayed until Enjolras's return, talking with me on all manner of topics as we sat sewing in the window. She had six sisters and no brothers, both parents still living in Gasny, and had come to Paris to find work and better prospects.
"And I think I've found both, though I mislike the idea of having to choose between Joly or Bossuet when it comes to marriage," she sighed.
When Enjolras came back, our conversation turned more towards small talk, but after a while I couldn't help but ask Musichetta if she'd ever been to the Musain.
"Yes - I've had lunch or supper there sometimes, and met some of Joly and Bossuet's friends there. Never been allowed in the back room, though. You'd think there was some kind of big secret being hidden there!"
"It's not that exciting," I grinned. "Maybe you could come along tonight?"
"She'll be a distraction," Enjolras said, looking up from where he was sat reading on the bed.
"Oh. Like I'm a distraction?" I asked. "What happened to you lot agreeing that maybe you ought to listen to the other fifty percent of the population?"
He sighed. "Fine. She can come. But on your own head be it."
"What is it that you fear? What do you think will go wrong? What's the difference between us?"
"I don't have to come," Musichetta interjected, at the same time as Enjolras said "She's romantically involved with Joly and Bossuet. You're not romantically involved with any of us. That's the difference."
"And if I became romantically involved with one of you? What then? Would I be barred from the back room merely on those grounds? I think Gavroche might have something to say about that! Anyway, Musichetta, if you'd like to come, I think you should, if only to help me prove a point."
"I'm sure we can prove a point together!"
And so, with Enjolras looking on somewhat disapprovingly, the three of us headed for the back room of the Musain together.