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The first time he sees the Pontmercy name- his own name- in a dispatch, Marius can only sit and stare at it in shock. He wishes desperately that he had a friend with whom he could discuss all of this, but he has never had a friend before and it seems that it is too late to make one now. So he sits alone and stares at the words on the page.
It is mid-day when he finds the record, a commendation for something heroic and inspiring, and by the time he leaves the library, Marius has every word of it memorized. On the way out, he borrows a book about the Battle of Waterloo.
“Bring it back in a timely manner, please,” the librarian tells him, with a stern look over his spectacles. Marius promises absentmindedly that he will and hurries out the door, eager to withdraw to his bedroom and begin reading. He knows he will need to hide the book in a drawer, perhaps under his socks, so that his grandfather does not realize that such material has entered their home.
Supper that evening feels interminable. His grandfather is droning on about some political matter that does not interest Marius in the slightest and there is no stopping him. Marius has never been permitted to interrupt his grandfather, particularly not at the table, and he knows that his grandfather cares little for the opinions of others. Marius’ aunt has long since ceased to listen to anything her father says at all and eats in silence, staring at her plate and speaking only once, to the maid, Nicolette.
Marius is aware that her name is not really “Nicolette”, but he does not know what it is. His grandfather’s manservant is not really called Basque, either, but both the domestics accept what is, functionally speaking, a nickname in exchange for some of the better rates offered in their line of work.
As his grandfather continues, moving smoothly from lecture to diatribe, Marius mentally relegates him to background noise and begins to review what he knows about the battle of Waterloo. He constructs a timeline of events and thinks that it will be a longer list when he has finished the book that is currently hidden upstairs.
When the meal is finally over, Marius is vastly relieved. He clears his throat as he pushes his chair in and his grandfather looks up, seeming almost surprised to find Marius there.
“Did you want something?” he asks, sounding slightly offended. “You may speak up, you know, and not simply bark at me as if I were the butler.”
“Hmm?” Marius asks, genuinely confused for the moment it takes him to realize that his grandfather is referring to the throat-clearing. “Oh, no, Grandfather. My apologies. It was nothing- my throat felt- I did not mean to-” Marius could swear. He is always so awkward when he has to address his grandfather, as if he had not lived with the man all his life. But his grandfather is such a difficult person!
“Very well,” his grandfather says, but he still looks suspicious. Marius fights off the urge to clear his throat again and bids his family a good night.
Up in his room, he lights a candle and stops to look around furtively and listen for footsteps in the hall before drawing the book forth. He sets the candle on a tall table and leans near to it so that the light falls over the pages at least well enough to see by.
Then, he picks up the story of the Battle of Waterloo again and with every scene he imagines that he is seeing his father in action. Every movement of the troops is ordered by Georges Pontmercy; each political decision is made by Georges Pontmercy; the breakfast the troops eat in the morning is cooked over a campfire with the kind of ingenuity that only a long career in the field can bring, and it is Georges Pontmercy who displays that skill.
When Marius finally looks up, it is because the candle has grown so short that it will soon go out. The flame flickers and sputters in the dark room and Marius reaches back to massage his neck, which is stiff from bending so long to read. It is past time to go to bed, by any measure, and he sighs as he lays down. The bed feels soft and inviting and he falls asleep quickly to dream of Waterloo and his father.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Marius wakes in the morning and his first thought is that he must have been reading in an even more awkward position than he realized, for his neck is as stiff this morning as it was last night. He sighs gustily as he sits up and realizes that it is not only his neck; his head feels oddly full and it is a little harder to breathe than it ought to be.
As he climbs out of bed and dresses, Marius realizes slowly that reading by candlelight probably did not cause this. He must have a cold, he thinks, and sighs again.
Cold or no cold, he is expected at breakfast with the rest of the household and he goes, tucking a second handkerchief in his pocket in case of need. He hopes the cold will not be a heavy one. Perhaps a cup of tea and something to eat will restore him; he has plans for the day that involve another trip to the library and some additional reading.
But when breakfast is over and Marius’ grandfather excuses him from the table, he decides to postpone his trip. It is on account of his desire to finish the book, he thinks, and definitely not because his cold is getting worse. He is in no way dizzy, Marius sternly tells himself as he climbs the stairs, and if he is, it is only on account of the congestion.
He does not want to lay his head on the arm of his chair, his train of thought continues as he sits down and picks up the book. The sturdiness of the arm of his chair does seem very inviting, however, and Marius compromises by bracing an elbow there and holding his head in one hand as he reads.
At some point, in the middle of a chapter, he thinks that perhaps he will close his eyes for just a moment, only to rest them. They are a little itchy, after all, and his head feels so heavy, it can’t hurt to indulge himself, just briefly. Marius puts his forehead against his cool palm and wakes up when he feels his head slipping and snapping back up, which is uncomfortable for his neck. He regrets that there are so many hours remaining until bed.
Marius attends dinner and supper, both command performances, and says nothing during either meal. His grandfather takes no notice, as it is not Marius’ place to chatter or even respond unless he is asked a direct question. For once, he is glad of this; his hands are unsteady and the room feels too warm. As his grandfather speaks, Marius focuses on his meal and finds that both dinner and supper sit poorly on his stomach and finishing them is a trial.
After supper, feeling somewhat queasy, Marius excuses himself back to his room.
“Getting up to something interesting, are you?” his grandfather asks, with a look that manages to make the innocuous question seem suggestive.
“No, sir,” Marius replies. “In truth, I believe I may be a little ill.”
“Pah,” his grandfather responds, waving a dismissive hand. “You’ll be right as rain by the morning and then I’ll say I told you so. We never took ourselves so seriously when I was a boy! But the young people these days must be coddled and go to bed for every sneeze and sniffle.” He waves again. “Off you go then,” he adds, somewhat sarcastically.
Marius is not sure whether to be offended or to ignore his grandfather, as his aunt does. His head feels very heavy as he climbs the stairs and when he reaches his rooms, he finds that he prefers to sit in the high-backed chair near the door for several minutes before completing the walk to his bed.
There, he exchanges his suit for a nightshirt and lies down, although the sun has not yet completely fallen. It feels good to lay his head down on the pillow, like taking a weight from his shoulders. He has been ignoring a headache for much of the afternoon and closes his eyes against the last of the light. A night’s rest and a sufficient amount of dreamless sleep will cure him, he thinks, and tries to look forward to reading the next section of the book when he wakes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Despite his expectations, Marius is no better in the morning. He wakes after the sun, having slept far longer than he is accustomed to, and the tolling of the bells from the church tells him that if he does not move rather quickly, he will be late for breakfast.
Marius rises unsteadily and dresses with shaking hands. It seems more difficult than usual to button his trousers, not to mention his waistcoat. He eyes himself in the mirror and tries not to think about the dark circles under his eyes. At the tolling of the bell, he hurries out the door and down the stairs, clinging a little to the banister.
He is the last to arrive for breakfast and is met by his grandfather’s glower. “See?” the old man says. “What did I tell you? Right as rain, just as I predicted! Now you see, my boy.”
The lecture continues, but Marius lacks the energy to listen. It is enough just to butter his bread and bring the tea to his lips without sloshing it over the side of the cup. Halfway through the meal, he realizes that he has neglected to comb his hair and runs his hand as discreetly as possible through it to settle it. His face, when his hand brushes his forehead, feels a little sweaty and Marius privately admonishes himself to move with less haste, so as not to work up a sweat so early in the day.
His aunt catches him in the hallway after breakfast. “Are you well?” she asks. She sounds stern, but Marius knows this is only her way. She does love him, but scarcely speaks with him directly, and is therefore out of practice.
He considers his answer and then says honestly, “I am not certain. I believe I have felt better, but I am… up and dressed, in any event.”
“You ought to go back to your rooms,” his aunt says firmly. “Stay there and rest until it is time for the noon meal.” She continues on her way in full expectation that he will obey her.
And he does. Marius takes the stairs again, of which he is getting very tired, even though they never bothered him before, and retires to his sofa to sit with the book about Waterloo. Over breakfast, he had been looking forward to being able to remove his coat, without which he would be insufficiently dressed to leave his rooms, but now he finds that he would rather keep it on. There is some sort of a draft, it seems.
In the hours that pass until he must descend the stairs again, Marius finds that he is very cold and his hands are shaking. He breathes less and less through his nose and is not sure he remembers much of what he reads. It is all he can do to get down the stairs and to the table.
Marius does not notice the concerned looks his aunt gives him through dinner. He barely notices his grandfather’s daily monologue; instead, he is preoccupied with fighting the urge to lean over and rest his head on the firm stability of the table or press his cool water glass to his temple. Marius does not realize that he is staring absently into the middle distance and eating as though his arm has been wound up and let go until his stomach twinges sickly and he presses his lips together against the nausea.
As in the morning, he retires to his room and his book, but it feels harder to read now. The letters swim on the page unless he very deliberately places his finger under each word and at some point in the afternoon, Marius is forced to admit that his cold has probably- no, certainly- become feverish. Thinking of the next chapter and, more importantly, of the expectation that he be present for supper, Marius takes his largest handkerchief and wets it in his wash basin. He ties it over his head, knowing that he looks very silly but accepting that this is the cost of feeling cooler for a time. It helps, somewhat.
When the church bells ring for the supper hour, Marius finds that it is a great trial to get his coat on and he barely remembers to remove the handkerchief from his head before making his way to the dining room. Without realizing it, he is swaying, as if in a stiff breeze, and a glance in the looking glass tells him that his face is quite red. He is glad that he does not have to wear a hat tonight. The heat would be terrible.
Marius eats what is put in front of him and presses a hand discreetly to his stomach under the table. His grandfather asks him something, but he is not entirely sure what and he answers, “Yes” and hopes that will be acceptable. When there are no additional questions, he decides it must have been.
When he gets up from the table, he is feeling very sick and moves with an odd waddling step as he tries to avoid jarring his stomach in any way. All the way up the stairs and into his room, as he removes his cravat and coat, all Marius can think is that he must not be ill on his clothing. He hangs the items up on a peg, very carefully. Very carefully, he waddles across the room and withdraws the chamber pot from under his bed before vomiting up everything he has eaten.
After he has finished emptying his stomach, Marius decides there is nothing for it but to go to bed early again. Dispairingly, he thinks that perhaps another night will see him better and pulls the blankets close around him, hoping it is true.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Marius can barely climb out of bed for breakfast the next morning and it takes him so long to dress that he is actually late. He spent some minutes focusing on putting his legs in the correct sides of his trousers and tying his cravat was a near impossibility.
He wobbles into the dining room, takes his place silently at the table and drinks his tea. He cannot eat any of the food in front of him but pushes it around his plate to make it look as though he has had some. When he woke, he was cold; during the meal he begins to sweat and his clothing is almost soaked when he is at last excused.
Marius worries that his knees will buckle as he begins to ascend the stairs and near the top, that is exactly what they do. He leans heavily on the banister for a few moments, willing them to carry him the rest of the way to his room, but they do not and he sits down heavily on the step. He is shaking and he curls in on himself, the way he used to when he was a little boy and his grandfather was angry about something. He tucks his swimming head in his arms and rocks himself until he thinks he can go on.
It is almost impossible to stand, but Marius manages it, one hand clutching the banister and the other holding his reeling head still. He is so dizzy that when he reaches the hallway, he closes his eyes and completes the journey to his rooms by feel, knowing from long practice how far he must go to find his own door.
Inside, he collapses into the nearest chair and feels an overwhelming, almost panicked need to be out of his clothes, which are so heavy that they are suffocating him. With hot, shaking hands he rips at his cravat, breathing more deeply as it comes away. He fumbles frantically with coat and waistcoat- there are so many buttons, he thinks. Why do they wear all these layers, when they only make one feel trapped and over-hot and why must they all be fastened with buttons?
When the waistcoat comes away and he is in his shirtsleeves, Marius kicks off his boots and pulls his stockings off with his toes, too exhausted to reach down and use his hands. At last, he sits back in the chair, feeling as if he has run miles, feeling the heat rising from his body.
The world looks dark in front of his eyes and he feels faint. He wishes he had something cold for his head, which might be on fire. Is that possible? He put his candle out last night. If he is burning, the candle did not do it. When he processes these thoughts, Marius realizes he may be a touch delirious.
With what is probably the last of his strength Marius heaves his aching body up from the chair and makes unsteadily for his bed. He pauses for handkerchiefs and wets one in the wash basin that Nicolette fills for him each morning. He staggers to the bed and lays down upon it, too tired to climb under the blanket. He mops his nose, presses the wet handkerchief to his head, and hopes he can sleep until all this goes away and he feels better.
He wakes to the sound of the church clock. If he has counted correctly, it is much later than he knew and he has missed dinner. But perhaps he only slept through the first chimes? Marius tries to open his eyes and finds them swollen and sore. The rag he had on his head when he fell asleep is gone, dropped somewhere on the bed, and without it, he finds that he is too feverish to finish a thought.
There are voices outside his door.
“Father, I protest- I ought to check on him.”
“What on earth for? If the boy missed dinner, let him go hungry. He is not a child. I will not indulge him.”
“I’m sure he is ill. Did you not see him shivering all through breakfast? He must have an awful temperature.”
“Pah! The boy wants fortitude, that is all. When he sees fit to fulfill his obligations, and promptly, he will be welcome, until then…”
Marius knows that his aunt will never disobey his grandfather, but he wishes she would open the door and check on him. He needs help and wonders how long they will let him lie here, with no one to care for him.
He will have to care for himself. He usually does.
Fighting the heat and the strange way that everything seems to be moving, Marius pushes himself up and stumbles to the chest of drawers and fumbles in it for a nightshirt. He is going to be in bed for some time and he might as well be more comfortable than this. With what feels like the last of his strength, he slides under the quilt and pulls it over his trembling shoulders. Exhausted, he falls asleep.
Many hours later, Marius wakes in the dark. He has missed supper and he knows that his grandfather will be angry with him. For a moment, he forgets that he is grown and long past the age where his grandfather can correct him with a blow, and he huddles under the blankets, shaking with anxiety.
Any minute now, the door will open and his grandfather will be demanding to know where he was and why he did not appear. It was the same when he had the mumps as a child and slept through supper and his grandfather had slapped him across his sore jaw before realizing that he was, in fact, legitimately ill. The same as when he had broken his wrist in his mid-teens; he hadn’t known how to tell anybody he was hurt and he had been reprimanded and made to go without supper because he was using his left hand exclusively, in what appeared to his grandfather to be clear defiance of order and good manners. Marius feels like that little boy again and waits for the consequences of his actions.
But they do not come. Nobody comes, and when the clock chimes again, he feels very alone and very sick. He is desperate for some water and wonders how far he will make it if he gets up to fetch some. The heat in his head is dizzying and his eyes are so puffy they feel hard to open.
Lying there burning in the dark, Marius thinks deliriously that his father would not have left him this way. His father would have come to care for him, if he had lived with his parents as normal children do. He read that his father was wounded, more than once, fighting for Napoleon. Surely, then, he understood what it felt like to be lying in bed, helpless with fever and barely able to remember what it felt like to be well.
He imagines his father would bring him some water and adjust his blankets so that he feels cooler and then he would sit down next to Marius and talk or read to him until he fell asleep. He imagines that his father is here now and as he drifts away into delirium or sleep, he thinks that he hears his father’s voice, telling the story of the Battle of Waterloo.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sometime in the night, Marius wakes and is so hot and thirsty that he can’t take it anymore. He has to get out of bed and find water. It takes him three tries to push the quilt off and free his legs, but he sits up with a groan and pauses to let the world steady. When it has, he moves on to standing, leaning against the wall until he thinks he can walk.
Marius wonders wildly if he will have to go all the way to the kitchen. He hopes not, because if he does, he is sure that he won’t be able to make it back to his room. How embarrassing, if the maids should find him there in the morning, in his nightshirt and probably collapsed on the floor. At first, he thinks that perhaps he ought to stay in bed and spare them the scene. Then he thinks that if someone did, indeed, find him in the kitchen then they might help him, which would be better than this.
He steels his nerves to make his way down the three floors to the kitchens and begins to stumble determinedly across the room. Just put one foot down, he thinks to himself. That’s all you have to do. One step. And one more. And one more. And one more. The phrase throbs through his brain and his head hurts badly and he needs a handkerchief. He is shaking, but his throat is dry and rough and he needs water even more. His body will not let him go without it and the instinct is stronger than his exhaustion, stronger even than delirium.
Marius does not have to go all the way to the kitchen. He loses his way slightly, feeling for the door in the dark, his eyes so bleary that he can’t properly see it. But before he gets there, his step falters and he stubs his toe on a sideboard and when he puts his hands out to catch himself, one of them lands in something wet.
At first, Marius does not think it can be real. But he is clearly awake, the sharp, sudden pain in his foot made sure of that. It made the cloud around his head dissipate for a moment, too, and Marius rubs his eyes so that he can take a look and then puts his hands out, more carefully this time, to discover what is before him.
He has to rub his eyes again to be sure he isn’t dreaming. There is a pitcher of water and a glass, first of all. Marius’ hands are so weak he can barely pick it up, but at last he is holding a glass of water. He sinks down into the nearest chair as he drinks it, shaking all over. It tastes better than anything he has ever drunk before; he is sure of it. No wine will ever taste as sweet as this cool water does on his parched mouth.
When he has had two glasses and assured himself that there is more for when he wants it, Marius investigates what the puddle he touched came from and finds that there is a basin there. It is a wash basin, although it is not his wash basin, which is across the room nearer to his bed. But it is full of cool water and there is a stack of flannels there.
A horrible wave of heat washes over him and Marius just barely resists the urge to upend the basin over his head. Instead, he moves very slowly and deliberately to refill his drinking water and soak a couple of the rags in the wash basin. He picks them up and they drop on the floor as he walks with careful steps back across the room.
He is so glad he didn’t have to go all the way to the kitchen. Marius puts the glass next to his bed, where he can reach it, and places the flannels strategically around his head and neck. Much more comfortable.
At last, thirst slaked and with something to break the heat, he puts himself to bed. His last thought before falling asleep is that the pitcher and basin weren’t always there. Someone has opened his door.
When he wakes again, it is unclear what time it is but the angle of the sun suggests that it is the middle of the morning. Marius wonders when he last ate. The glass next to his bed is empty, but he remembers that there was water in the room last night and there is probably still some left.
As he had in the night, Marius completes the process of standing up and crosses the room with the same rhythm pounding in his head. And one more. And one more. Each “one more” step brings him closer to his goal and this time, with sunlight streaming in through the window, he can see the sideboard before he runs into it.
Someone has, indeed, been here. The pitcher is full and there is a fresh cup for his water. The basin is full and there is clean flannel next to it. Best of all, there is a bowl of porridge with a spoon in it. Looking at it, Marius is not sure whether the feeling in his stomach is hunger or nausea, but he knows he ought to eat at least a little bit.
He sits in the chair and cradles the bowl of porridge against his chest to hold it steady. Slowly, he eats it, careful not to spill any on his nightshirt. It seems to do him good, and when he has eaten he feels, if not better, at least stronger. He is able to carry the rather heavy pitcher of water to his bedside, so that he does not have to get himself out of bed every time he needs to drink.
Settling back down under the quilt, Marius washes his face and blows his nose and settles another cloth on his head. He thinks it would be nice to go back to sleep.
He is about to drift off when his stomach gives a terrible heave. His reactions are so slowed by illness that Marius realizes almost too late what is happening and just barely manages to draw out his chamber pot and be sick into it, instead of on the bedclothes. He leans over the pot afterward, shuddering and spitting out the taste in his mouth, and feels very lonely.
In the afternoon, there is a storm and Marius’ cold settles into his chest. He wakes himself up coughing as the thick, dark clouds roll in and it takes him a moment to heave himself up in the bed and catch his breath. He is more grateful than ever for the water and has not yet had the mental presence to wonder exactly where it came from. It is a blessing, and that is enough.
A sip of water helps him catch his breath and he watches out the window as the world darkens. It is rather pretty, he thinks. A passage from his book comes to mind, about the heavy weather on Georges Pontmercy’s march to Moscow, and Marius is very glad to be indoors right now. He shivers, partly sympathy and partly his fever, and pulls the quilt tighter around him. He holds a cool cloth to his head and cheeks and watches out the window as the first lightning cracks the sky in the distance.
The storm takes hold with a vengeance, rain pelting the windows and thunder rolling deeply overhead. It does not look as if it will let up any time soon. The noise disturbs Marius in his already restless sleep and he wakes up to a bout of coughing. He struggles upright and clutches his chest, desperate to draw in air. Fever-sweat has soaked through his nightshirt and he wants a dry one if he can have it. Besides, he needs to use the necessary.
Marius gets out of bed and finds, first, that the chamber pot is clean and empty, another surprise. The basin by the door is full again and so is his pitcher of water, which is right where he left it on the nightstand.
For the first time, Marius wonders who is coming in and why, if they are coming all this way, performing all these tasks for him, they will not stay with him. It would be a comfort to see a friendly face. It would be even better to be able to lie still while someone else tends to his raging fever, instead of having to find the strength to bathe his own brow and hold his own head when he vomits.
Marius begins to cough again and remembers that he wanted to change his clothes. He finishes putting the chamber pot to use and fumbles though a drawer for a clean nightshirt. The sweaty one goes over the back of a chair- not ideal but not on the floor either- and he struggles into the fresh clothing. He thinks dreamily of how nice it would be to have a proper bath, with soap, and get all the dried sweat off. Perhaps the person who brings him water and empties his chamber pot will think of that, too. Marius would like to leave his room, perhaps to ask for a bath, but when he tries to make it to the door his knees go weak and he begins to cough and in the end he goes back to bed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The following day is the worst one so far. Marius’ fever rises in the night and he barely wakes in the morning. The sound of the church bells tolling the hours runs together and echoes in his head, so that he is never sure whether he is hearing time pass or simply imagining the noise.
He is so hot that he pushes the blankets away and lies spread-eagled on the bed, panting, the heat pouring off him in what feels like waves. If only there was a breeze- but no, the window is closed and he cannot open it. Marius lies there, miserably hot, with nothing to do but hope that it ends.
In a lucid moment, he wonders whether he will die.
The heat gives way to cold and Marius curls in on himself, holding his head just to feel its warmth on his fingers. Dimly, he remembers that there is a quilt and works though a train of thought that leads him to conclude that it must be on the ground. He is so cold that he decides to expend the energy to get it.
Slowly, his trembling arms push him up and he heaves in a breath and coughs until his ribs hurt. Then he sees the quilt lying next to the bed and leans over- farther- another inch will do- and collapses onto the mattress, lying down at last. At least he did not fall off the bed entirely, he thinks.
Now his legs are hanging off one side of the bed and his arm off the other and in between, Marius is stretched out across the mattress and desperately seeking air. His toes are so cold they are hard to feel and his hand grasps feebly at the air, as if the quilt is suspended there and he can take hold of it.
This will not get him anywhere. Marius takes another choking breath and pulls himself forward. Then he lets gravity do some of the work and he slides his body far enough down the bed that his outstretched hand can touch fabric. There is nothing left for it now but to actually pick it up and put himself back on the bed and Marius does this.
The movement leaves stars swimming before his eyes, but he is lying down again with his head on the pillow and the quilt bunched up next to him. With what feels like the last of his energy, he burrows underneath it. He can’t quite make it lie right, though, and winds up with a corner of it under his chin and the other corner tucked around his feet. He wants it to lie square, but he is shivering wretchedly and at least it is warmer this way. Exhausted from so much effort, Marius closes his eyes and lets himself slip away.
When he next surfaces, it is to the heat again and his quilt feels sweaty. He wants some water and the sleep has given him enough energy to sit up, endure the attendant coughing fit, and reach for the glass. He drinks it down in one grateful gulp and goes for more. Picking up the pitcher is an unusual effort and pouring a glass even worse; the water sloshes over the side and runs down his arm, dripping on the sheets.
At first, Marius is annoyed that he has gotten his sheets wet, but he has to admit that the water feels wonderful and cool on his over-hot skin. He takes a drink, begins to cough halfway through, splutters, and clears his sore throat before finishing the rest of it. It helps, but he is still dizzy with heat and he eyes the basin of water longingly.
It crosses Marius’ mind that if he can pick up the pitcher or the basin, he could simply pour it over his head and he might feel cooler. Better not the pitcher, he realizes- he will need another drink of water and who is to say how often his absent caretaker actually comes? He has the strange feeling that the person does not want to be seen.
But the water would feel so good on his back and shoulders. Marius stares at the basin while a plan begins to work itself through his head. When it reaches the part of him that still knows how to move and act upon thought, he sighs deeply, coughs into his fist, and climbs off the bed.
He totters unsteadily across the room and brings back a towel, a large one that he uses to dry himself off after a bath. This, he is sure, will do. Marius places the towel into the basin, soaking up the water there. He lifts it out and gives it a weak squeeze so that, while it is soaked, it is not quite so heavy or dripping quite so much.
At last, his plan comes to fruition as Marius climbs back onto the bed and wraps the towel around him, pulling it over his head and around his shoulders like a shawl. It is blessedly cool and might even help to clear his head a little. His unseen benefactor has brought porridge again and he eats it, although he does not feel hungry. He knows he needs the nourishment if he wants to be well, and when he puts the bowl down he closes his eyes and curls up in the wet towel to go back to sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
In the night, Marius feels cold again and drops the wet towel to the floor, crawling under his blankets without really waking. The bells in the church steeple chime and the sound is more comforting this time, the same ringing that marked the passage of every hour of his childhood.
When Marius next hears the bells, they chime twice and he thinks at first that he feels strangely rested for having slept so little. Then he opens his eyes and realizes that it is broad daylight. The last of the rain seems to have gone and it is two in the afternoon. He wonders how long he has been asleep and decides the answer is “a very long time indeed” and that will have to be enough.
Rolling over in bed, his next thought is that he is not quite so uncomfortable anymore. When he has to use the chamber pot, he is able to do it without as much worry that he will fall over and when he lays back down, he pauses to take stock of his body.
It feels… yes, rather better than the previous day. He can see more clearly and although he is still too warm, he is not unbearably hot and at least for the moment he is not having chills. His vision has cleared and he is able to lean against the pillows and look around his room. The basin is still there, full again, and the pitcher next to it is probably full, too. The towel he was wrapped in is gone and the sheets have dried.
Next to the pitcher, there is another bowl of porridge and Marius finds that his stomach does not turn over at the thought of eating it. He pulls himself over to sit on the side of the bed and pours himself a glass of water. Then he eats and drinks and is fairly confident that the food will stay down.
Marius contemplates going back to sleep, but finds that he is not really tired, for the first time in days. Instead, he uses this newfound strength to cross the room and retrieve his book. He settles down with a glass of water and a clean handkerchief and loses himself in the story of the battle of Waterloo for some hours, until he begins to yawn again.
By now, the light is fading and Marius thinks he will be able to sleep very comfortably. Pressing the back of his hand to his forehead reveals that he is still fevered and he finds his head growing light as the evening progresses. He finds also that he is rather weak and tries to think of the last time he ate a full meal. It has been a few days, at least, and he supposes that accounts for his lassitude now. Nonetheless, he feels that he may be improving.
Again, Marius ponders the question of who has been coming into his room. If he is going to be capable of staying awake longer, he wonders if he will see them and finally learn who it has been. Has his aunt taken pity on him, or has Nicolette or Basque? If absolutely nothing else, he would dearly like to know how they were able to come only when he was asleep.
He is almost reluctant to drift off again- part of him would like to stay up and see if the person comes in the night- but he is warm and his eyelids feel very heavy and Marius allows himself to succumb to sleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The following morning, Marius wakes and realizes, to his thorough relief, that he does not feel worse. He puts a hand to his brow and thinks that he is slightly too warm, still, but only slightly. The fever may break more completely during the day if he allows himself to rest. What is more, he appears to have slept through the night and the sun is just coming up over the rooftops of Paris, visible through his window.
As the church bells chime 7, two things occur to Marius.
The first is that he feels well enough to eat something and, indeed, is quite hungry. His stomach growls and he smiles. It is comforting to feel something other than the effects of his cold and fever.
The second thing he realizes is that he does, he feels sure, have the strength to dress and descend the stairs for breakfast. This is a mixed blessing; on the one hand, he is looking forward to something more substantial than porridge, but on the other, he will have to face his grandfather.
This thought dampens his enthusiasm somewhat and the smile on his face dims and becomes a look of resignation. There is nothing to do but go down to the dining room and face whatever it is his grandfather will have to say to him.
It is with mixed feelings that Marius rises and begins to dress. His hands are still very shaky and he has to sit down more than once to rest his legs so that they will hold him, but he manages and even ties his cravat in a way that is not completely embarrassing. After so many days in nothing but his nightshirt, it feels a little odd to be in a full suit of clothes again and to be wearing shoes. But perhaps now he can get a bath and surely he will feel more himself in time for dinner.
Marius leaves his room and is surprised to find how fresh the air feels now that he is no longer cooped up in his own two rooms. He had barely noticed the stench of illness until he opened the door, but now it strikes him as heavy and airless and he is glad to slip out into the hallway.
Descending the stairs, Marius meets nobody and feels slightly apprehensive about the prospect of running into another person. What will they say to him? Will they comment on his absence, perhaps express worry that he has been poorly for so long? He is sure his grandfather will not, but there is a part of him, one he tries very hard to ignore, that hopes he is wrong about this.
The first person he passes is, in the end, one of the servants. From the way she is dressed, she must be one of the lower maids, perhaps one who works primarily below-stairs, and she blushes and bobs a shy curtsy when she sees him before fleeing upstairs to attend to some chore.
Encountering the maid was not so bad, since she would never have dreamed of addressing the young gentleman of the house, but seeing his grandfather and his aunt makes Marius more nervous. His heart is practically in his throat when he turns the corner and sees both of them sitting at the table. Marius presses his hands together to stop them from shaking as he bows slightly to each of them before taking his seat.
Nobody says a word and Marius can feel the muscles in his shoulders tighten as he sits down and spreads the napkin across one knee. He sniffs and wonders what kind of reaction he will get if he has to blow his nose. There is a handkerchief in his pocket and he starts to reach for it and then pulls his hand back. He settles for pressing the back of his hand to his nose and hopes that will help.
The only recognition Marius receives before the meal is a cool nod from his aunt who does, he thinks, appear to be studying him. He tries his best to look well and keeps his hands in his lap to conceal how they shake. Marius is unsure whether this is from lingering weakness as his fever subsides or whether it is a case of nerves as he is confronted with his family.
When the food arrives, it looks so good that Marius nearly forgets his nerves. Something more primal takes over and he has to force himself to eat at a decorous pace, moving no more quickly than usual so as not to behave rudely or draw unwanted attention to himself. Still, he eats an extra pastry and two extra eggs. His hands are no longer shaking quite as badly.
Marius is beginning to think that he has rejoined the family fully and may be spared an uncomfortable conversation about justifying his absence. The relief, he is sure, must be plain on his face. He folds his napkin and places it on his plate for one of the domestics to remove when the family has retired and slides his chair back under the table. He thinks of the book waiting upstairs and freezes slightly when he remembers that he did not hide it. It is sitting out on his bedside table, where he left it last night.
He must go pale, because his aunt is looking at him again with more noticeable concern and the last of his equanimity is shattered when his grandfather barks out, “Well!”
“Sir,” Marius says and tries to sound pleasant and hide the shaking in his voice. “Good morning.”
“Seen fit to grace us with your presence, have you?” His tone is impossible to read. It could equally well be relief or disdain.
“Yes, sir,” Marius says and as the words leave his mouth, he thinks they might have been the wrong ones. “Er- no, sir,- er, I was not intentionally avoiding meals, sir.” Marius thinks sadly of that extra egg and the pastry and hopes he will not be sick on the carpet.
“Hmm,” Is all his grandfather says, and without so much as another look at Marius, he leaves.
Marius is left in the dining room, staring after his grandfather’s back, and realizes after a moment that his mouth is still open.
“Are you feeling better?” his aunt asks from somewhere over his shoulder. Marius has forgotten that she is still there and jumps.
“Oh, yes, much, thank you,” he stammers.
“Good,” she nods and she, too, leaves the room to do whatever it is she likes to do with her day.
Once again, Marius remembers the book and it is all he can do to stop himself from sprinting up to his room. If his grandfather hears the noise, he won’t like it and Marius forces himself to move at a more sedate pace. Still, his heart is pounding as he opens the door and his knees almost go weak again when he observes that everything has been cleaned up in his absence.
Someone has been here. Someone has removed the pitcher and the glass, the basin, the stack of flannels; even the sheets and quilt have been replaced with something cleaner, something into which a feverish boy has not spent the last week sweating. It would look inviting, if only Marius were not so worried.
And then he sees it.
The book has barely been touched. It sits on the bedside table where he left it; it has only been turned so that it sits straight and looks neater there than it had when he left for breakfast. It has not been taken to his grandfather.
Marius’ heart is pounding and his head is whirling and his hands are shaking, but he is grinning in relief. He turns around to sit down on the bed and at that moment something else catches his eye. It is so large and obvious that he has no idea how he missed it earlier, except that worry- panic- about the book had occupied his attention so thoroughly.
The thing is a bathtub, clearly brought up for his use, and it is full of clean water with a slow steam rising from it. Next to the tub, soaps and flannel and a towel have been laid out. Smiling at last, Marius picks up the book and goes to clean off.