"You really should have been in class today," Courfeyrac declared as he
joined Bousset and Feuilly at a table in Corinth on an afternoon in early
1832.
The Eagle of Meaux laughed outright. "Rene Courfeyrac, are you sure you're feeling healthy? You rarely show up yourself and you're suddenly telling me I should? Not likely." He poured a glass of wine from the bottle in front of him and offered another glass to Courfeyrac who nodded and took it.
Grantaire, who was sitting the next table over, heard the comment and bowed his head in mock-mourning. "And there goes the least likely victim, fallen to the disease of academics." He tilted his head at Laigle. "Better check with Joly and make sure it's not catching."
Rene grinned. "No, you don't understand. The events of today were amusing enough to make up for almost all the idiocy of the rest of my school career." He leaned over, his eyes twinkling with anticipation at telling his story, pausing just long enough to get his audience's attention. "There was this new professor, you see. A guest from the Berlin university or something. And Mon Dieu, what a ruckus he caused." Suddenly his voice trailed off and he gazed at a figure across the café. "Speak of the devil."
Feuilly followed his gaze to a man sitting at a table with a thick textbook in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the noise in the room. "That's him?"
Courfeyrac nodded and Grantaire grinned. "So, do we get to find out what happened or not?"
Rene was about to reply when a tall, handsome young man with blond hair and cool blue eyes entered the café, allowing the door to slam open. At first, he started towards the table at which the three friends were situated, but then he stopped, his eyes fixed on the professor. A look of determination rose on his face that would have been recognized by anyone who knew him, and he marched with purpose to the teacher's table. A smirk rose on Courfeyrac's face and he held up a hand. "Don't worry, you're about to find out, I think." Slowly and quietly he stood and moved a few tables closer, beckoning for Feuilly and Laigle to follow.
As it turned out, the movement was more or less unnecessary. When Enjorlas finally spoke, after standing over the professor for almost an entire minute as if waiting for a response from him, his voice filled the entire corner of Corinth. "/Mon/sieur!"
The man looked up. His face was filled with calm surprise, though if a person looked closely enough they would probably detect a hint of amused twinkle in his eyes, as if he had known that Enjolras was standing there the entire time and had ignored him just for the spite of it. "Yes?"
"I was in your class today and I must object to some of the things you said." Enjolras' voice was cold, curt.
Grantaire snorted, but didn't allow his voice to carry to the other table, then rambled dryly, "Oh. Politics, of course. And here I was beginning to think I would find out something interesting about Apollo over there. Courfeyrac, if you're going to tell stories about our fearless leader arguing with royalist professors, French /or/ German, find a grisette who'll be willing to get drunk enough to appreciate /anything/ that comes out of your charming mouth." In response, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and said, "Wait. You'll see."
The professor closed his book with a quiet Ibump/I and smirked. "Ah yes, the budding Robespierre. What is it that you need?"
A low whistle escaped Grantaire's lips, and Laigle kicked him under the table. "Will you /stop/ with the running commentary, Winecask?" he hissed.
Meanwhile, Enjolras had narrowed his eyes. "I'd rather not dignify that with a response, Monsieur."
"Then don't," the professor replied amiably, opening his book again.
Enjolras scowled. He wasn't going to be dismissed that easily. "What I object to, Monsieur, is your attitude towards things that you know nothing about."
"So you pointed out in class, and I will tell you the same thing I did then, /Monsieur/. Your ardent nationalism and fanatic republicanism has blinded you to the fact that every single thing your country has done since they decided to execute Jeanne d'Arc has been filled with stupidity, ridiculousness, and, shall we say, arrogance." The professor closed his book smoothly and leaned back in his chair, not at all perturbed by the icy glare Enjolras was sending him.
Laigle choked. "Mon Dieu, but he's blunt," Grantaire adding, "And inhuman, considering the Gorgon stare Apollo seems to have borrowed from Medusa doesn't seem to be turning him into stone."
"That is part of what we are trying to accomplish by reforming the state," Enjolras replied evenly after regaining his composure.
The man snorted. "Oh? Well it seems to me that they tried that before and it led to the Reign of Terror. No, I doubt the French could set themselves up a fair, organized, stable system of government if it meant stopping Armageddon. Not now, not one hundred years from now, not two hundred years from now." The smirk returned, and this time the look in his eyes seemed to say that he knew something no one else in the room did.
Feuilly's eyes narrowed and he whispered to Courfeyrac, "You said he's German, didn't you?" Getting an affirmative answer, he stood and walked over to the table the professor and Enjolras were at. Curious, Courfeyrac and Laigle followed.
Enjolras hadn't noticed his friends yet, and he blinked with surprise when the fan-maker approached and said, "Monsieur Professor, you say the French are so incompetent, but what about your own country? What does Prussia have to speak for? Actually give Poland the freedom it has been craving instead of ruthlessly suppressing them, and then maybe we'll have some kind of grounds to discuss things on." Flaring Feuilly's temper was a difficult thing to do in any circumstance, but that had now most certainly been achieved.
"I never said I had any pride in my country," the professor responded calmly to the newcomer, "I'm only warning you not to have much pride in yours. Besides, as I see it there's a greater chance of Germany getting somewhere than France." He surveyed the three revolutionaries standing over him and smiled when he spotted Rene. "Ah, de Courfeyrac. You were in my class today as well, were you not?"
"It's Courfeyrac."
He smirked a final time. "If you think that in discarding the article that you discard your entire semi-aristocratic ancestry, /de Courfeyrac/, then you are sorely mistaken. Now, gentlemen, I really must be going." The professor stood, bowed almost mockingly, and strided out the door.
The surprised silence that hung in the air was broken when Grantaire let out a long, loud laugh. "Now him, I like. Nice to know there are a still a few sane people left in the world."
The Eagle of Meaux laughed outright. "Rene Courfeyrac, are you sure you're feeling healthy? You rarely show up yourself and you're suddenly telling me I should? Not likely." He poured a glass of wine from the bottle in front of him and offered another glass to Courfeyrac who nodded and took it.
Grantaire, who was sitting the next table over, heard the comment and bowed his head in mock-mourning. "And there goes the least likely victim, fallen to the disease of academics." He tilted his head at Laigle. "Better check with Joly and make sure it's not catching."
Rene grinned. "No, you don't understand. The events of today were amusing enough to make up for almost all the idiocy of the rest of my school career." He leaned over, his eyes twinkling with anticipation at telling his story, pausing just long enough to get his audience's attention. "There was this new professor, you see. A guest from the Berlin university or something. And Mon Dieu, what a ruckus he caused." Suddenly his voice trailed off and he gazed at a figure across the café. "Speak of the devil."
Feuilly followed his gaze to a man sitting at a table with a thick textbook in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the noise in the room. "That's him?"
Courfeyrac nodded and Grantaire grinned. "So, do we get to find out what happened or not?"
Rene was about to reply when a tall, handsome young man with blond hair and cool blue eyes entered the café, allowing the door to slam open. At first, he started towards the table at which the three friends were situated, but then he stopped, his eyes fixed on the professor. A look of determination rose on his face that would have been recognized by anyone who knew him, and he marched with purpose to the teacher's table. A smirk rose on Courfeyrac's face and he held up a hand. "Don't worry, you're about to find out, I think." Slowly and quietly he stood and moved a few tables closer, beckoning for Feuilly and Laigle to follow.
As it turned out, the movement was more or less unnecessary. When Enjorlas finally spoke, after standing over the professor for almost an entire minute as if waiting for a response from him, his voice filled the entire corner of Corinth. "/Mon/sieur!"
The man looked up. His face was filled with calm surprise, though if a person looked closely enough they would probably detect a hint of amused twinkle in his eyes, as if he had known that Enjolras was standing there the entire time and had ignored him just for the spite of it. "Yes?"
"I was in your class today and I must object to some of the things you said." Enjolras' voice was cold, curt.
Grantaire snorted, but didn't allow his voice to carry to the other table, then rambled dryly, "Oh. Politics, of course. And here I was beginning to think I would find out something interesting about Apollo over there. Courfeyrac, if you're going to tell stories about our fearless leader arguing with royalist professors, French /or/ German, find a grisette who'll be willing to get drunk enough to appreciate /anything/ that comes out of your charming mouth." In response, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and said, "Wait. You'll see."
The professor closed his book with a quiet Ibump/I and smirked. "Ah yes, the budding Robespierre. What is it that you need?"
A low whistle escaped Grantaire's lips, and Laigle kicked him under the table. "Will you /stop/ with the running commentary, Winecask?" he hissed.
Meanwhile, Enjolras had narrowed his eyes. "I'd rather not dignify that with a response, Monsieur."
"Then don't," the professor replied amiably, opening his book again.
Enjolras scowled. He wasn't going to be dismissed that easily. "What I object to, Monsieur, is your attitude towards things that you know nothing about."
"So you pointed out in class, and I will tell you the same thing I did then, /Monsieur/. Your ardent nationalism and fanatic republicanism has blinded you to the fact that every single thing your country has done since they decided to execute Jeanne d'Arc has been filled with stupidity, ridiculousness, and, shall we say, arrogance." The professor closed his book smoothly and leaned back in his chair, not at all perturbed by the icy glare Enjolras was sending him.
Laigle choked. "Mon Dieu, but he's blunt," Grantaire adding, "And inhuman, considering the Gorgon stare Apollo seems to have borrowed from Medusa doesn't seem to be turning him into stone."
"That is part of what we are trying to accomplish by reforming the state," Enjolras replied evenly after regaining his composure.
The man snorted. "Oh? Well it seems to me that they tried that before and it led to the Reign of Terror. No, I doubt the French could set themselves up a fair, organized, stable system of government if it meant stopping Armageddon. Not now, not one hundred years from now, not two hundred years from now." The smirk returned, and this time the look in his eyes seemed to say that he knew something no one else in the room did.
Feuilly's eyes narrowed and he whispered to Courfeyrac, "You said he's German, didn't you?" Getting an affirmative answer, he stood and walked over to the table the professor and Enjolras were at. Curious, Courfeyrac and Laigle followed.
Enjolras hadn't noticed his friends yet, and he blinked with surprise when the fan-maker approached and said, "Monsieur Professor, you say the French are so incompetent, but what about your own country? What does Prussia have to speak for? Actually give Poland the freedom it has been craving instead of ruthlessly suppressing them, and then maybe we'll have some kind of grounds to discuss things on." Flaring Feuilly's temper was a difficult thing to do in any circumstance, but that had now most certainly been achieved.
"I never said I had any pride in my country," the professor responded calmly to the newcomer, "I'm only warning you not to have much pride in yours. Besides, as I see it there's a greater chance of Germany getting somewhere than France." He surveyed the three revolutionaries standing over him and smiled when he spotted Rene. "Ah, de Courfeyrac. You were in my class today as well, were you not?"
"It's Courfeyrac."
He smirked a final time. "If you think that in discarding the article that you discard your entire semi-aristocratic ancestry, /de Courfeyrac/, then you are sorely mistaken. Now, gentlemen, I really must be going." The professor stood, bowed almost mockingly, and strided out the door.
The surprised silence that hung in the air was broken when Grantaire let out a long, loud laugh. "Now him, I like. Nice to know there are a still a few sane people left in the world."