'Grapes Are For Abandonment..'


It is a fine day, a fairer day than Paris has seen in a week of slow, drizzling rain. The clouds have at last parted, and Cosette once again comes out to her garden. Her marble bench is covered with leaves, and still wet, and she comes out armed with an old bed-sheet. Conquering the bench proves easy, and she soon smothers it beneath the grey cloth. She sits, then, with a playful childish vanity, smoothing her green dress down over her knees.

Her pear tree is flourishing and covered with white blossoms, though the ground is also carpeted with them. It bears fruit as well as flowers, and it's terribly lovely to her. She gazes fondly at it. It's likely older than she is, but it looks quite as young. Such a pretty thing. She fancies to herself that no other girl is Paris has such a lovely garden, cared for by her father and adored by her.

She looks away from it suddenly, hearing footsteps on the cobblestones outside her gates. The telltale fingers curl about the iron bars, and she sighs softly.

"Oui?"

"'Phelia?"

"Oh! Horatio." She stands lightly and steps over, looking through with interest. "I thought you weren't coming back."

"And yet here I am."

"Upon what errand, good gentleman?"

Rodolphe raises his eyebrows. "Just to wonder. You don't really fancy lord Hamlet, do you?"

"No. I don't really."

"Do you fancy anyone?"

Cosette blushes and ducks her head. "Oh... I don't think you know him. I saw him in the Luxembourg. He had a shabby coat at first, but he started wearing a better one. Just because he walked past me, I think. He has the most beautiful eyes..."

"Oh, I know him. We all do. He's our Laertes. The coat he stole from Gertrude. Borrowed," Rodolphe amends. "He fancies you too, if you'd care to know. It was all we could do to keep him from Hamlet the other day. They have all the enmity they should."

"He fancies me as well?"

"Indeed. 'Phelia, you're a lovely shade of pink."

"Ought I not be?" She half-laughs. "I'm happy. It's always nice to know your fancy isn't one-sided. I hope Hamlet doesn't chase him off. I hope he comes. It would be terribly splendid. Do you fancy any girl, Horatio? Or is your loyalty to Hamlet alone?"

"I stick by my play."

"I shan't stop you. Ah, I should give you roses to take to him, save that I don't think you like carrying my flowers all over Paris."

"Not particularly. I'll do you a favour this once, however. After that, find another errand-boy."

"Why will you do it for me this once?"

Rodolphe looks at her carelessly. "The next best thing to finding out your fancy isn't one-sided is finding out your competition doesn't want to be competition."

"Oh."

"You needn't say it like that." He glares.

"Well, I don't mind. Love can't be wrong. It's love."

Rodolphe frowns a little, watching her innocent faerie-tale face. She clearly thinks what she says is so. She has her fingers wrapped around the bars, and her head tilted to one side, giving him an earnest smile. She isn't beautiful, but a pretty girl, with her long brown curls and her slim fingers. If she didn't look quite as innocent, he might pin her for a girl other than Ophelia. Perhaps Hero, though she looks to have more sense than Hero. Odd.

"You really oughtn't be Ophelia, ought you?"

"I wanted to be Miranda."

"Miranda suits you. I ought to let you out, to see the brave new world."

"Oh no, Ferdinand must let me out."

"Very well, then. Give me your roses, and I shall convey them to your fancy. Just this once."

"Done." Cosette smiles again, and turns about into the garden. He waits patiently until at last she returns with a small bundle of pink and red rosebuds. "Do you think he would understand?"

"I surely don't. Of course, he's a daintier boy than I, as you may likely have told."

"Pink rosebuds are for grace and gentleness. Red rosebuds are for innocent hope. And this one, do you see, the white one" --she holds it up for his scrutiny-- "is for love and respect. If he doesn't understand, you must please tell him."

Rodolphe makes a sweeping bow. "Surely. May the two innocent children delight in one another, and live a happy faerie story ever after. Miranda and Ferdinand. Has a better ring than Hamlet and Ophelia, I fancy."

"Thank you. And luck to you," she adds earnestly, handing through the bouquet.

He ignores her, transferring it to his pocket with slightly more delicacy than what he used on the pear branch. "Au'voir, cheri."

"Au'voir, Horatio."

"Oh, and this time I really don't intend to come back. The last visit, for you will have drowned."

"And been reborn."

Rodolphe gives her a small, ugly grin, and starts away. Cosette returns to her bench, feeling thrilled. It is true, then, that she oughtn't be Ophelia. Now, without guilt, she'll move on to a different play. Thank heaven. She closes her eyes blissfully and allows herself to enjoy the sunlight and the scent of pear blossoms.


Chapter Ten.
Back to Chapter Eight.