The din in the wineshop is ear-splittingly loud. I glance down at my parchment, which sits before me, blank, untouched, glaring at me hideously. I reach for another sip of wine, but before I can drink, a wave of sickness comes over me. I cannot see as I stumble over drunkards, making my way towards the door.
I find myself in a dark alley, lit only by the tavern behind me. There, I let loose my sickness, making a full mess all over my shirt and cravatte. Cursing, I stand up, to see a girl. She is lanky, her cheeks are thin, her teeth are crooked and yellow, and her dress is only a potato sack, full of holes.
All she does is stare at me, for a seemingly endless pause. I suddenly feel self-concious, hunched over with vomit dripping down my chin. I make a move to go back into the tavern, to clean myself up, when she asks, "Do you know a Monsieur Marius?"
I shake my head, and she runs off, freeing me to go back into the tavern. Only after I have cleaned myself up, and have sat down again to my blank paper, do I think of the quiet, yet passionate man, Courfeyrac's friend, who had come to a few meetings at the Café Musain. Wasn't his name something like Maurice? Perhaps it had been Marius. Oh, well. The girl was gone, anyhow. I pick my pen up again, and begin to write.