Enjolras listened to the chatting of the Les Amis bouncing from wall to wall. Such a joyful sound to hear, but Enjolras was alright to disrupt it.
"It's just as well to know where one stands and whom one can count on." He began in a loud voice to carry into the darkest corners of the café. "How many of us are there? No point in putting it off. Revolutionaries should always be in a hurry; progress has no time to waste. We must be ready for the unexpected and not let ourselves be caught out."
The blonde leader surveyed the room. "Courfeyrac," His eyes rested upon the cheerful dandy. "you can call on the polytechnic students, its their free day. Today is Wednesday, isn't it?" Then he turned to Feuilly. "You can call on the workers at Glaciere.
"Combeferre has said he'll go to Picpus, there are a lot of good men there. Prouvaire, the stone-masons show signs of cooling off, you'd better find out how things are at the lodge in the Rue de Grenelle-Saint-Honore. Joly can look in at the Dupuytren hospital and take the pulse of the medical students," Enjolras glanced at Joly and could see the cheerful hypochondriac found the fact he was attempting to be more humorous than the humor itself. "and Bossuet can do the same with the law students at the Palais de Justice. I'll do the Cougourde."
"And that's the lot," Courfeyrac said. Enjolras returned his gaze to the dandy and shook his head.
"No."
"What else is there?"
"Something very important." Enjolras replied and pressed his lips into a tight line in thought.
"What's that?" Combeferre asked.
"The Barriere du Maine." Enjolras explained simply and continued to stare as if looking past everyone, obviously deep in thought.
"There are marble workers at the Barriere du Maine. They're keen, on the whole, but inclined to blow hot and cold. I don't know what's got into them recently." Enjolras continued, his voice still thoughtful. "It's important for someone to go and talk to them, and bluntly. Their place is the Café Richefeu and they're always there between twelve and one.
"I was going to send that dreamy character, Marius, but he doesn't come here any more. I've got no one to send." He finished. His heart was heavy, although it didn't show. He had wished not to lose them, and now it seemed he had no choice.
"There's me," said Grantaire, interrupting the Greek god's mournful thoughts. "I'm here."
"You?" Enjolras asked in doubtful shock. Why would the cynic volunteer?
"Why not?" Grantaire shrugged.
"You'll go out and preach republicanism, rouse up the half-hearted in the name of principle?" Enjolras demanded, still quite doubtful. What was the man playing at?
"Why shouldn't I?" the drunkard countered as he folded his arms across his chest. Enjolras paused, seemingly to sum the cynic up. It was true that there was great need for another voice.
"Would you be any good at it?"
"I'd quite like to try." Grantaire said with a hint of sincerety in his slightly slurred voice.
"You don't believe in anything." Enjolras retorted a little angrily. Was this just another game? Just another mockery?
"I believe in you."
Those words shocked Apollo and he stood unmoving for a moment.
"Grantaire, do you really want to do me a service?" Enjolras asked.
"Anything you like – I'd black your boots." Grantaire confirmed. Enjolras curled his lip in disgust. Then it was just a mockery, just like all the other times.
"Then keep out of our affairs. Stick to your absinthe." And the blonde leader turned away.
"That's ungrateful of you, Enjolras." Enjolras thought he sensed a small amount of pain in the voice and he turned back. Perhaps he had been ungrateful. Did the cynic not also deserve a chance? It was not up to Enjolras to decide who was worthy of helping. This was not for himself, nor was it his revolution. "their revolution" was a more appropriate wording, or perhaps simply, "the people's".
"You really think you're man enough to go to the Barriere du Maine? You'd be capable of it?" Enjolras asked, still rather doubtful, but more willing.
Grantaire scoffed. "I'm quite capable of walking along the Rue des Gres, up the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince to the Rue de Vaugirard, along the Rue d'Assas, across the Boulevard du Montparnasse and through the Barriere to the Café Richefeu. My boots are good enough."
"What would you say to them?" Enjolras inquired. He truly wanted to believe Grantaire was capable of this and that perhaps the cynic was not as cynical as he appeared, but he could not risk failiure.
"Well," began Grantaire. "I'd talk to them about Robespirre and Danton and the principles of the Revolution." The look on Enjolras' face was priceless.
"You would?"
"Yes, me. Nobody does me justice. When I really go for something I'm tremendous! I've read Prudhomne and the Contract Sociel and I know the Contitution of the Year Two by hear. 'The liberty of the citizen ends where that of another begins.' Do you think I'm an ignoramus? The Rights of Man, the Sovereignty of the people, I know the lot."
"Be serious," Enjolras interrupted a little crossly.
"I'm madly serious." Grantaire replied with a wild grin. Enjolras studied Grantaire and remained deep in thought for a few minutes. The cynic did seem to at least know what it was they believed in, even if he seemed so often to disagree, and Enjolras couldn't send no one.
Besides this, Enjolras desperately wanted to believe that Grantaire was not a useless cynical drunkard who had no other cares. Enjolras wanted Grantaire to be a good man. He firmly believed there was good inside of everyone, and he believed this about Grantaire as well, no matter how hard the drunk tried to prove him otherwise. Though, Enjolras had been beginning to lose hope for Grantaire.
"Very well, Grantaire," he said soberly. "I'll give you a trial. You shall go to the Barrierre du Maine."
Enjolras had finished speaking to the men at the Cougourde. It had gone quite well and he was confident they would join them at the barricades. He was in good spirits and wondered how his friends were doing. He imagined well. Enjolras' mind wandered to Grantaire. How was the cynic doing with his task? It was worth checking on him. Perhaps Enjolras would see that the man was not so hopeless after all.
He opened the door and paused. There was no speech being made, and no sign that one had ever been given. Then he heard a voice that he knew well and turned towards its source.
"Double six." The booming voice of an outspoken drunkard said.
"Four."
"Blast! I can't go." The man with curled dark hair lamented.
"You'll have to pass. A two."
"A six." The cynic was playing a game and Enjolras could see he would not stop anytime soon. Enjolras' good mood was replaced by anger and a feeling of betrayal. Not only of his trust, but of France and the people! Enjolras turned away and left promptly. He didn't notice that the cynic had looked up. He hadn't seen the look of anguish and regret on the drunkard's face.