The Shadow Ripples


It was almost a week later when Samuel woke up in the morning and realised he didn't know what he was doing. He understood that he was doing what Dimitri had wanted to do, but he didn't know why. He was writing speeches the way Dimitri wrote, referring to the same books Dimitri referred to, and using the same turns of phrase Dimitri used - for he didn't let a bit of Samuel creep into the things he did - but he didn't know why he was writing them.

He told himself that Combeferre knew. The difficulty was that asking Combeferre to tell him would mean admitting-- admitting was not the word. He would not be admitting anything. He hit his pillow. Asking Combeferre to tell him would mean going back to being Samuel.

After a week of having been Dimitri in front of people, it had gotten so much easier, and it was nice by now, and he liked it. He was, of course, frightened a little that someone would know he wasn't Dimitri, and Dimitri was sterner and more solemn than he would have liked, but he was much happier this way. It didn't worry him anymore. He reminded himself of this coldly, and pulled his blankets over his shoulders.

He did need to speak to Combeferre, however. It was inconceivable that he could truly be Dimitri without knowing why Dimitri did things. So he promised himself he would ask Combeferre after classes, no matter what happened then, and spent the rest of the day resigning himself to being Samuel again.

Combeferre sought him out instead, and asked him in his lovely warm voice if he could come and meet someone. Samuel didn't protest, resolving to speak to Combeferre later.

Feuilly had black eyes and looked at Samuel intently. Combeferre had met him, he explained, in the street; Combeferre had dropped some books, he had gathered them up, and in replacing a paper that had fallen out of one, found it to be the rough draft of one of Samuel's speeches. He had read it. Feuilly explained this with some pride. He had read it very quickly while he was picking up the other books, and when he had handed it back to Combeferre, he had inquired as to whether Combeferre was a revolutionary.

Here Combeferre interjected, in an amused tone of voice, that they had experienced a momentary standstill, because he had been unsure of admitting the fact without knowing whether Feuilly agreed with revolution, and Feuilly had not wanted to say he agreed with it until he knew Combeferre wasn't a police informer.

Feuilly twitched his nose at Combeferre, and said, "But we found we were both of the same mind, and I came here to meet you, because he said you were the leader...?"

Samuel nodded. "Yes. I am."

"All right. What do we stand for? What are we going to do?" Feuilly watched Samuel with his black eyes, and Samuel nearly shifted uneasily, but Dimitri would never have done that, so he overcame the urge.

"We stand for Patria, and Patria stands for France. We stand for freedom. We stand for freedom, and equality for every man."

"What about every woman?" Feuilly asked.

Samuel blinked.

"For every woman, as well. For anyone; for the elderly, for the young, for men and women," Combeferre said. "Equality is for the people, and everyone is the people."

Feuilly smiled, a fey little smile that fit with his slightly pale face and his tousled black hair. "Good; then I am with you. But what will we do?"

"Have a revolution," Samuel said simply, because that was what Dimitri had said. He rather hoped that would satisfy Feuilly.

Feuilly's smile grew the tiniest bit wider, and he nodded to Combeferre, and to Samuel. "All right. Do we meet somewhere?"

"Corinthe, or the café Musain. More often it's the café. The back room," Combeferre said. "I believe to-morrow--"

"The day after to-morrow," Samuel cut in firmly. "Saturday."

Feuilly gave a short little laugh. "I shall come." Then he gave Samuel a look, and left.

"Damn," Samuel mumbled.

"Why?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I need to speak with you, Combeferre."

"Of course," said Combeferre, curiously.

"Privately," Samuel added, as Combeferre seemed to be waiting expectantly.

"Would you like to come to my apartment? I have a room at a quite respectable place, Enjolras."

"All right." Samuel sighed. "Thank you."

"Of course," Combeferre repeated gently, and turned, to show he was ready to go. Samuel followed quietly, and felt sad. Dimitri wouldn't have followed, but Samuel would.

He lowered his eyes and looked at the street beneath his feet.


Chapter Five.
Back to Chapter Three.