"I saw you with a woman today," Grantaire said. "Hair like red gold, lily-white skin... Your sister?"
"No." Enjolras threw the paper on the table. "My mother."
"Your mother!"
"Yes. She is indeed beautiful... But more importantly, she is a philanthropist. From helping the poor to the moral treatment of lunatics, she is aptly named." Enjolras smiled a bit. "Angelique."
Grantaire laughed. "You have never told about your family!" she cried. "Tell us: are your sisters as beautiful and good?"
"Sadly, no: they lack their mother´s purity and moral character. They are decadent and useless. I sometimes think that they must be changelings: they are not at all like their parents."
"Ah, and here I think that your mother is republic," Grantaire teased gently.
"Mother, for understandable reasons, is most beautiful word for me, Citizen," Enjolras said and returned to his papers.