Never in her life had Sybill Fauchelevent appreciated how unbearably boisterous silence could be.
As Enjolras and Sybill sat in the Cafe Musain that afternoon, neither soul spoke a word as both were determined to suffer the silence. It was maddening. Behind Enjolras was window where the sun decided now was an opportune time to shine directly behind the golden-haired boy which created the appearance of a golden halo fitted to his head. His features appeared darker due to the beautiful light behind him. He was utterly absorbed in a volume with a title that Sybill could not quite read.She spared one glance at the man but upon noticing how stunning he appeared she regretted her choice at once.
On the table before her, Sybill spotted a newspaper. To avoid the imposing figure before her trying to converse, she began to flip through it rather absentmindedly. It was difficult for the woman to calm herself to the point of doing such a menial, trivial task for she felt the most anxious she had in all of her years at this moment although she did not show it. Her expression seemed utterly casual to a fault. Her eyes followed words across the page in a trance. Although her hair had been carefully pinned that morning, strands had fallen from it in strange, small curls around her face. Enjolras looked to the woman once before biting his lip and returning to his book.
Sybill did not notice for her eyes espied the thing she realized she must have been secretly searching for.
On the back of the paper, there was an advert which simply read:
Friday, 1 November of 1831. Noontide. In God's Eyes.
Sybill stared at the little advertisement. She read it four times over. Five times. Six times. It still did not make sense to her. Twelve times over she read the advert, and its cryptic message without fully being capable of comprehending what this meant.
How could this be? How could the man respond? How could this man wish to speak to her? Well, it was not truthfully Sybill Fauchelevent nor Nadine Proulx he called for. General Lamarque was searching for a learned man to debate ideals with, except he knew not that the anonymous man was a lady. What had she thought when she wrote to him? How utterly rash and juvenile! She could not attend a meeting with the General for she had learned only moments ago that he was not fond of women at all. Her mind raced with the sudden realization that she would have to reply to the man and soon.
Enjolras noticed Sybill's change in demeanor from across the table. He glanced at the paper that was before her. There was nothing peculiar that he could make out about the articles. His eyes flickered to the advertisement that Sybill had repeatedly read, but he could not grasp the meaning even of that cryptic message. Nothing appeared extraordinary about the page she was on for the entirety of it was advertisements. For some reason, Enjolras could detect that she was utterly panicked for the woman did not appear to breathe. A bead of sweat was on her forehead.
"Are you ill?" he whispered lowly. Even he heard how strange his voice sounded considering the pair were alone so he quickly cleared his throat to remedy the situation.
Sybill Fauchelevent nearly gasped from surprise at Enjolras's voice. Her breath caught immediately. Her green eyes flared to the man before her at once. The gaze was so fierce but with a terror that silenced him from speaking more. However, the fierce eyes also proved a challenge to him, and he cleared his throat again. There were no words spoken between the two, but their eyes were locked on one another.
"What is it that vexes you so, mademoiselle?" Enjolras finally inquired calmly.
"I would not anticipate it being of any relevance to the gentleman before me therefore I would not wish to distract you from the importance of your work with such uninteresting trifles," replied Sybill sardonically. Her demeanor proved her poised and distant although inwardly she felt herself scolding her wit for potentially earning her another round of banishment from Musain.
Enjolras froze. How was it that the girl was able to so quickly and eloquently derail his intentions? Enjolras desperately tried once more. "It is merely, mademoiselle, that I do not take pleasure from seeing one so distraught as I perceive you may be, and I would like to offer my assistance where it may be employed."
"No," Sybill responded simply. There was a silence that followed from the girl's harshness.
Enjolras blinked in response. "No?"
"No," Sybill shrugged. "You made your meaning quite clear, monsieur. You are not interested in me or my affairs therefore I will not allow you to hear of them."
Enjolras's eyes grew aflame as he watched her. "How long must you mock me so? Must you taunt me? You are crueler than any I could imagine."
Sybill was genuinely surprised by the man's remark. "Do explain my tyranny - true and simply for I guarantee you have proven more tyrannical than I."
Enjolras scoffed at her words. "I am tyrannical? You propose a secret tryst with me out of supposed affection," he began, "but in secret you harbor another? I thought that the secrecy was for my public sake only although I was quick to learn how you - ever the opportunist - took the chance to seek the pleasures of another man." Enjolras paused. "Why the look, mademoiselle? Did you think I would never learn it?" Enjolras's eyes flickered away from her and to the book on the table. "The man you chose is not one to hold his tongue."
Sybill's eyes caught his again before she glanced away. To see the light in his hair and to hear his voice so enraged made her feel as if an archangel had stooped from heaven to scold her. It was difficult to look at him. She knew not his meaning. What was his intention? Was he to say that she was with another man during their relationship? Sybill's eyes met his again once she realized what Enjolras must have thought. "You fool," she uttered with death on her face.
Her words frustrated Enjolras at once. "You cruel enchantress," he countered. The boy could not fathom how she could torment him endlessly. She had made him a cuckold and must she now declare him a fool?
"I am not with that man," Sybill responded. "He is a friend; my only friend. I had no other connections here besides my sister and a child. True, now my relations have grown, but I will not cast aside Courfeyrac for new friendships that have formed. His goodness has been proven to me time and time repeated. Heed my words: I will not be charmed by the charmer. He is kind - true - but I rejected his advances because of my affections for you, monsieur, although I have often thought since his proposal that perhaps I spoke too rashly to my one suitor."
Enjolras was silent as he rose to his feet and walked to the window. Sybill feared he was angered and would order her out of the Café Musain yet again. There truly was a limit to the times she would allow herself to be banished from the establishment before she took it to heart and truly quit the place. Finally, the blonde-haired boy broke the silence. "You were never with Courfeyrac."
"No, of course not," Sybill replied quickly.
Enjolras cursed under his breath. The man looked utterly distressed. "I have wronged you."
"You have," Sybill agreed with a nod, "although I must ask how you arrived at this conclusion."
"Monsieur Courfeyrac."
Sybill was surprised at the name. She watched Enjolras carefully as he told it to her. "You believed this man?"
"I did," Enjolras admitted.
"You questioned my loyalty, my honesty, my affection for you upon the declaration of a likely drunken man that I was his?"
"I did."
Sybill shook her head. "You are all the more a fool for it."
"I am."
"Our doubts are traitors and make us loose the good we oft might win from those actions taken based on foolish fears and false perceived truths," Sybill sighed as she rose to her feet. "I will see myself out, Monsieur."
Enjolras quickly stepped closer to the woman. "Nadie, might we talk?" Enjolras whispered. There was a child-like pleading in his eyes. Every atom of Sybill's blood searched for ways to appease him. She yearned to be with the boy, but such an offense could not be reconciled so quick.
"About?"
Enjolras's face contorted. "Nadie, I cannot... I cannot..."
"Cannot trust? I know," Sybill responded. "You believed me so false as to swear love to another man while carrying on a tryst with you. No, no, I must leave for I do not much enjoy the company of fools."
Enjolras stood in her way as she took a step. "Nadie," he spoke. "Nadie, I am sorry. Honest, I know not how to ask for forgiveness for this. I have no experience. I have no ideas. I cannot pretend to know how to go about a relationship with a woman especially you. There's no... there are no guidelines. I mistrusted my dear friend at your expense, and I am sorry. I am. Please, Nadie. Please do not leave."
Sybill was frozen in place. There was the broken blue-eyed boy before her and herself. They were the only two in the place. She knew it and felt it in her bones; in the marrow. "I want you," she replied. "I want to not... I want to stay. I want to be with you in any way I can, but... But I cannot stay without trust."
"I trust," Enjolras quickly responded. "I do. I will trust you. I will never again doubt you. I swear it. I will discuss it with you before believing it upon another's word."
Sybill gave a giant smile and a nod. "I do appreciate it, Monsieur, but at this moment I have greater worries. I will write to you soon with my decision for your eyes and tongue do try to charm me so much that I dare not trust to make a sound choice in your presence."
Enjolras blushed at the words. "I honor you."
Sybill giggled. "Why?"
"To forgive but to hesitate and ensure a clear decision," Enjolras started, "that is an honor I hope I am capable of." The man sighed. "It was never within my intention to cause you any pain. I was..." He broke off. "I was distraught by that news. The fault was entirely that of my own."
"How did the events transpire betwixt you men?" Sybill inquired.
Enjolras drew a breath in slowly. "Dear Courfeyrac came into the Café Musain the day after our last meeting by the fountain singing praises of your mutual affections," he admitted slowly. "He made it quite clear the present feelings between the two of you, and I..." The statue faltered. "I was jealous," he admitted. "I was jealous of how free you two are in public and how oft you meet."
"I would have met with you more," Sybill finally replied in a small voice.
The corners of Enjolras's mouth unintentionally smiled momentarily. Sybill studied the man.
"I will consider your intentions, your motivations, and provide you with a written reply soon," Sybill decided in a reiteration of her earlier decision.
Enjolras nodded. "I will await anxiously your decision, mademoiselle, and I will honor whatever it may be."
Without another word murmured between the pair, Sybill Fauchelevent quit the Musain. Her gait was collected and balanced as she left the upstairs compartment. There was a new feeling in her body, and she knew that she needed to get as far from this place as possible so that she could determine her next step.
Once the door was shut behind Mademoiselle Fauchelevent, the spell on Enjolras was broken. His eyes had followed her until she left the room. He began to pace the perimeter a few times before looking for the woman outside of the window. He had made the most grievous of errors in judgement, and now he regretted any harsh words that had fallen from his lips. For jealousy is a vile creature, and he lamented his part in becoming captured by the emotion. He was able to cool his thoughts with the knowledge that there was a possibility of Sybill and he reconnecting. The stone man looked out of the window and shook his head at a loud bird on the windowsill.
On the other side of the door, Sybill continued to walk without pausing to collect herself. It was not the effortlessly charming demeanor of the marble man that necessitated the woman to plot, but the advertisement in the newspaper. General Lamarque requested to meet her. The famous military man sought to converse with her! He consented to an interview! It was unfathomable. She never dared the general would be so bold as to accept her over-hasty invitation, and now she knew not what her next move dare be.
"Milk the pigeon," sighed Sybill aloud in a whisper once she reached the street, "milk the bloody, bloody pigeon."
A smile wider than a cat's spread across her lips as the woman practically danced down the cobblestones to her home.