Night had long since fallen over Paris. One of those dark and cold nights in which the streets are deserted and the houses seem suddenly to spring up out of the fog and lean in around the lone passer-by with a threatening attitude. The darkness lends an evil aspect to doorways and street corners, it appears to us as if an unseen presence is lurking ready to strike.
Through one of these empty streets a lone figure was passing. His coat was unbuttoned, showing a red waistcoat, and his head was bare, he seemed to have lost his hat. The fog and the slow drizzle of rain seemed to disturb him no more than the darkness or the lateness of the hour. He made no effort to protect himself from the cold, he seemed unaware of it. A faint smell of alcohol and smoke could be perceived about his person.
Where did he come from, this stranger? The Barrière du Maine. Where was he going? To the casual observer it would seem as if the man himself knew not where he was headed. At regular intervals he could be seen to stop and look about him, as though unsure of his surroundings, before seeming to come to some resolution and continuing on his way with hurried steps.
Who was this man? As he passed under a light his features could be distinguished as those of Grantaire. He was in fact returning from his errand to the Barrière du Maine. The indecision observable was that of a man who knows he has done wrong and dreads the moment when he will be forced to reveal his faults to another. Grantaire thought of Enjolras.
To be able to understand clearly Grantaire's thoughts it must first be related what had passed earlier in the evening. Enjolras consenting to allow Grantaire to go to the Barrière du Maine, the latter had left to go there directly. On his way he had passed several places he knew, where he would ordinarily have stopped for a glass of wine. This was his first test. By using the image of Enjolras as a motivation, Grantaire had been able to resist temptation and had passed the wine shops by.
The second test to his resolve to be of use to Enjolras came in the form of an old friend who hailed Grantaire from across the street and invited him to accompany him to dinner. Grantaire was very hungry, not having eaten since that morning, but he declined and went on his way. So he passed the second test.
By the time Grantaire reached the Barrière du Maine he felt that warm glow we feel when we achieve something we have set out to do. He was pleased with himself. He entered the Richefeu smoking-room. It may be that then he still had the intention of doing as Enjolras had asked him, perhaps he meant to speak to these sculptor and marble-cutters about revolutionary ideals, but as he entered the room he perceived men drinking and playing at dominoes. Thus distracted from his purpose, this drunk, this gambler seated himself at a nearby table and called loudly for wine. Sad to say all ideas of revolution had left his mind after the first glass and he was soon immersed in a game of dominoes.
This is one of the unfortunate things often found in the case of drunkards. They may mean well, but once offered that ultimate temptation, a full glass, they forget their purpose, they are at once consumed by the need to taste this wine. Exactly this had happened in the case of Grantaire.
Not long after Grantaire's arrival the door opened once more. A young man stood on the threshold and seemed to look around the room for something, without speaking to anybody. He had the attitude of somebody who is listening to a particular conversation, picking out a certain voice over the general noise of a crowded room. This young man stood thus for a moment then turned and as silently as he had come he left, letting the door swing quietly shut behind him.
Grantaire did not become aware of this stern, cold young man standing with his arms crossed across his breast in the doorway. Had he looked up he would have recognised Enjolras and possibly he would have still been recalled to his original purpose, but intent on his game the gambler did not look up. He missed his opportunity and showed Enjolras exactly what he had been expecting to see, a useless man with no conviction or ideas, a man not to be trusted with anything.
Hours later as he was rising to leave Grantaire remembered Enjolras, he remembered the task he had been given and seemed to suddenly become sober again. It was very late. Grantaire looked about himself and realised he was alone, the other men had all gone home to their families.
At that moment it seemed to Grantaire that he could hear the voice of Enjolras speaking in his ear. Worthless, the voice seemed to say, unbeliever, drunk, sceptic. Grantaire shuddered. There was nothing left for him to do, he had missed his chance, wasted his opportunity to show himself to his angel in a better light. He went out, leaving his hat on the table.
It was raining outside, but the miserable drunk seemed unaware of it. His feet took him in the direction of the Café Musain while his mind reeled from the events of the evening. How had this happened, how had he forgotten his purpose in going to the Barrière du Maine? Grantaire could not have said. All he was aware of was that he had failed, he felt already the weight of Enjolras' disapointment on him, crushing him. It slowed his steps so that he paused several times in the middle of the street, wavering for a moment before continuing on his way. He seemed reluctant to move forwards and yet unable to stop himself.
He could have taken another route, turned aside from his path and made his way back to his room rather than going to the Café Musain where he would have to face Enjolras. In vain he tried to convince himself that the lateness of the hour meant that the other Friends of the ABC would have long since gone home, he knew that was not the case. How often had he sat at his table in the corner while they talked and planned late into the night. Grantaire knew that Enjolras would be waiting for the others to report back to him on what had happened in their meetings. That meant he would be expecting Grantaire to return. There was no avoiding the meeting.
Grantaire trudged on, the image of Enjolras ever before his eyes, that beautiful statue, that marble angel, towering above him, soaring, somehow elevated above the rest of mankind. Without being conscious of it Grantaire knew that he could not have turned away and hidden from this vision. To see Enjolras again, even harsh and angry, was like a drug to this pathetic drunk, a drug more powerful and more intoxicating than the best wine. Grantaire could no more have refused to see Enjolras than he could have refused to breath. One was as necessary to life as the other.
Enjolras was like a bird soaring above Grantaire on golden wings while Grantaire gazed up at him with adoring, worshiping eyes. Enjolras shed light on Grantaire far beneath him in the cynical, drunken darkness he chose to inhabit. This light gave meaning again to this worthless life. Grantaire needed Enjolras.
The question of why Grantaire returned to the Café Musain, why he willingly faced the wrath of one he venerated above all else, was a simple one.Why did Grantaire return? To see the bird fly.