An awkward silence fell on the room, followed by a timid clearing of the throat from Jehan, then a squeak from Pontmercy.

"Ah!" Courfeyrac cried out, before whispering, "Well, either way, that leaves the delightfully bashful Estelle for me!"

Positively fuming and barely keeping his composure, Enjolras called for everyone's attention for the nth time that day. Just as he started to speak, his eyes wandered over to Faye once more. She was looking on in amusement, laughing, while Estelle was discussing her supposed "sickness" with Joly.

"Mmhmm, I see," Joly muttered quietly, tapping his chin thoughtfully as 'Telle said a few things about a dry mouth and tight throat. "This is very serious, Mlle. Estelle, very serious indeed."

"Come now!" a very bored Courfeyrac interrupted. "You, my dear Mademoiselle, are just as healthy as I!"

Joly coughed loudly at that statement and said something under his breath as he turned his attention to Enjolras.

Blatantly disregarding Joly's suggestive coughing; Courfeyrac continued giving Estelle his Casanova grin and frequently reaching out to brush some of her messy hair out of her face or to touch her shoulder or hand. This caused the poor girl's knees to weaken, throat to tighten, and brain to stop functioning properly. ("Blast!" she cursed as she accidentally spilled some tea onto her turquoise dress.)

He hid a smile and politely offered her his clean handkerchief as she and Fayette fussed over how they were going to eliminate the tea stain.

"What a wonderfully productive meeting, Julien!" Faye said with a flirtatious wink, patting his cheek as she and Estelle exited the back room, arm in arm. "We shall be seeing more of you, I hope?"

Enjolras sharply sucked in his breath, his face burning as he watched the Fangirls walk away. "Adieu," he said quietly, fully knowing that she could not hear him.

"You know, mon ami, you could speak with Joly and L'aigle about your little… predicament," Courfeyrac said as he leaned against the door frame. "I have an inkling that those two are, well, to put it nicely-"

"Courfeyrac!" he boomed. "This conversation is OVER." (If Enjolras gritted his teeth just a tiny bit harder, they would have disintegrated completely.)

He wasn't affected at all by his friend's thundering. In fact, he continued to offer some "words of wisdom." "'Over'? Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras, our tête-à-tête has scarcely begun! My lady-friend, Sophie- you know, that pretty baker's daughter?- She has a twin brother who is just the most-"

"I will hear no more of this ridiculous-"

"-What was his name? Oh, yes, Sebastien-Emile. Strange man, he was. He insisted that we all called him by his full first name. Isn't that just a mouthful? 'Sebastien-Emile…'"

"Are you finished?" he asked slowly, forcing down any urges to strangulate, punch, or maim Courfeyrac in any way possible.

"I believe so! Oh, by the way, I've invited the girls to come with us to the theatre tonight! It seems they both have a love for the stage themselves!"

Enjolras paused from gathering all his papers, pamphlets and books. "Is that so?" he tried to say casually.

"Indeed! Well, I shall see you tonight, then? Dear friend, you must tear yourself away from all this! It's simply a few hours with your friends and a pair of very pretty Mademoiselles." With his piece said, Courfeyrac exited the room, leaving Enjolras to contemplate on them.

Oh, yes, lovely readers, Enjolras would follow Courfeyrac's advice… with some extra help from…... Grantaire?

"Mlle. Estelle! My dear, I believe you left something at Musain!" Courfeyrac called, chasing after the two Fangirls.

"Oh, my luck today is simply ghastly!" Estelle grumbled to Fayette as she turned around… only to see the young student holding a single rose for her. "Oh! Goodness gracious, M. Courfeyrac! It is beautiful," she breathed. "But, I don't believe it is mine!" Estelle replied rather stupidly and obliviously. (Faye rolled her eyes, still smiling.)

"Please, my darling Estelle, just Courfeyrac. Formalities with my peers make me a trifle uncomfortable. And, this," he added dramatically, "this is a beautiful rose for a beautiful girl." He took her hand, kissed it, and then placed the flower inside.

"…..Guh….."

Fayette chuckled, gently nudging her friend this time. "'Telle…."

"Um…" Estelle forced herself to tear her eyes from that same bow she was playing with.

"Fayette, would you mind if I borrowed your dear friend?" Courfeyrac asked rather innocently, too innocently in fact. Noticing this, Faye responded with a stern Look before finally releasing her friend. "I wholly promise to behave myself and be a good boy," he added, holding his arm out to the vocally-impaired girl.

This, gentle readers, was where Monsieur Jacques de Courfeyrac would continue his attempts to romance the very oblivious Mademoiselle Estelle Modiste. Now, one may ask- why should he persist on chasing a girl who hardly returned his affections? Well, to be quite honest, Courfeyrac didn't know the answer either.

"S-so, Courfeyrac, may I ask why you needed to, um, 'borrow' me?" she asked as he led her to a conveniently-placed park around the corner, briefly making a face at the term, "borrow." (I never realized there was such a pretty park around here! Estelle thought to herself.)

Astounded at the sudden change of scenery, Courfeyrac didn't let on and, instead, smiled down at Estelle the oblivious. Why was he taking such a horribly long time with this? If he had been acting normally, he would have had the girl wrapped around his finger by now. In response to her question, the Casanova leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Estelle could have kissed him back, wrapped her arms around his neck, skipped through the flowers gleefully, or fainted, even! But, no! Estelle (who was, without a doubt oblivious) sneezed violently. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" she sniffled, searching for a handkerchief, even though she didn't need one.

"Bless you, darling!" He chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips. "I certainly hope you are not allergic to me, Mademoiselle!"

"Silly, I cannot be allergic to a human being!" As soon as the words left her mouth, Estelle cursed herself for sounding stupid yet again.

"You are an amusing one, Estelle Modiste!"

"Oh, well, I suppose I-" Her mouth moved, but not a sound was made. The poor, oblivious girl grabbed her throat, her wide eyes bigger than ever. Estelle dropped to her knees, gesturing wildly, the fear apparent in her eyes.

"Estelle?" he asked, the worry apparent in his voice as he knelt beside her, gently placing hand on her shoulder. "Estelle, what is it? What's wrong?"

The girl froze, her long black hair covering her face. After a minute, she lifted her head, flipping her hair. As she did so, the hair went from disheveled and lusterless to tousled and with natural copper highlights. Her eyes went from innocent and brown to eyes that were all-knowing and changed colors with her mood. Her skin glowed, her smile was radiant. Even her tea stained turquoise dress was cleaned and slightly fancier than moments before. "Estelle?" she asked him, her smooth voice like the music of beautifully harmonizing angels and songbirds. "I am not Estelle! I am Zepherine-Suzette Moira-Adriane du Soleil-Fromage, the distant cousin of your friend Bousset!" She smiled, revealing her pearly-whites.

Courfeyrac stared in awe and fear, scrambling to stand up. What was this creature before him? Surely this sort of perfection did not exist! He reached out to touch her silky, sun-kissed skin, finally helping the gorgeous girl to her dainty feet. His eyes went from her color-changing eyes, down her flawlessly curved neck, and down her slender waist, down her voluptuous hips.

"Take me in your arms! Make sweet, passionate love to me!" Estelle- no, Zepherine-Suzette…whatever- cried out, throwing her willowy arms around his neck, pressing her tiny body to his, purring softly in his ear. "I am yours, my love."

He could have whisked her away to his flat and obeyed each of her commands.

But, where would our subplot be, dear readers?

Instead, Courfeyrac pulled out of her grip and screamed (rather uncharacteristically), running for his precious life.