Marie ungracefully ran through the back entrance of the café, which opened into the kitchen. "Mama! Mama!"

"My God, Marie!" her mother exclaimed, turning away from the stove. "What's happened?"

Marie clutched the table and panted for breath. "I found a group of men to rent the upper room indefinitely."

Marie's sister, Brigitte, turned from the tub of water. "Really, Marie? Since when have you ever been able to convince a man to do anything for you?" Brigitte was a small thing, pale and thin from her easy submission to illness. But what she lacked in strength, she made up for in wit.

"Now wait a minute," Marie's mother interjected, slapping her wooden spoon against the counter for emphasis, "I cannot believe you would make an offer like this without asking me first. You know that every part of this business was given by your father to be run by me and your obvious disregard for this makes me think that you are not responsible enough to—"

"They're willing to pay fifty francs a week!" she blurted out.

"Fifty francs a week?" her mother shouted, dropping the spoon. "Oh, bless you, child! God never granted a mother a more brilliant and considerate daughter! Oh here, let me kiss you!" Her mother pinched her cheeks and smothered them with kisses. This was just Madame Musain's nature; she could not stay mad at those she loved for any length of time.

"What other services did you offer them?" Brigitte muttered.

Marie swatted her arm. "Oh, hush up and give me a rag." Brigitte threw one at her and she started drying the dishes on the counter. "However, that means we have to clean the attic."

"Well, how much time do we have?" her mother asked. "We can bring the furniture up from the basement, and scrub the windows, and—"

"They're coming tomorrow."

"WHAT?" Madame Musain nearly dropped the pot she was stirring. "Girls, up in the attic! NOW!"

The three stumbled upstairs, and were caught for a moment in sheer panic. The cobwebs and debris strewn throughout the room were the least of its problems. It was furnished only in dust and the occasional storage chest, and its dirty windows would not let light through even on a sunny day.

Brigitte coughed. "Brilliant thinking, Marie."

"Honestly, it isn't so bad," Marie said, lifting some ragged curtains. But she let out a scream when she saw the family of spiders residing behind it. "Or, maybe we have a lot of work to do."

The three Musain girls closed the café that day so they could invest their time in the attic. The room was noticeably smaller than Marie remembered it to be, but figured the idealistic group of men would not be able to attract many followers anyway. When they were finished cleaning it, the room was actually quite nice, and they were able to fit in a few long tables with benches. It probably wasn't up to the standards these bourgeoisie were used to, but she figured it would have to do.

Marie paced in front of the café that night, smoothing her clean dress and running over what she would say to the men when they arrived. What if they were unimpressed with her efforts? She was counting on this money; without it, she might have to consider an alternative to help her family that actually made her sick to her stomach: marriage. And the only men who would deign to marry her at this point were lonely widowers with several children. No, she would have to impress these men.

Her thoughts were broken by a familiar voice. "Mademoiselle Musain?"

"Oh, Monsieur Combeferre!" she gasped, turning to greet him, "Please, call me Marie."

They shook hands pleasantly, and she noticed he was not alone. "Monsieur Enjolras, how nice to see you again."

He gave her hand a quick shake, while studying the building. "We would be much obliged if you would show us that upper room."

"After we meet the master of the house," Combeferre prompted, with a pointed look at Enjolras.

He nodded. "Of course."

"If you'll follow me." Marie led them to the back of the building, and through the door of the kitchen. "My mother took over control of the café after my father's death a while back."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Combeferre, but Marie waved away his sympathy.

"Mama?" she called. Her mother was bent over the tub of water, scrubbing pots and pretending to look busy. "Our new patrons are here."

"Ah, yes," she said, turning and wiping her hands on her apron. "Now boys, I want you to know that I will not tolerate any kind of nonsense from you and your peers. I expect the utmost respect for my family and my facilities. There are often children here in this kitchen, and I am trying to bring the poor dears up in a proper Christian household. I will not allow any kind of drunkenness, foul language, or women with loose morals into this establishment, and I know how prone young men like you are to engaging in questionable behavior."

Marie bit her lip to keep from laughing as Madame Musain rambled on. Her mother's bluff was so easy to tell, even when you hadn't known her for your entire life.

"Furthermore," she continued, "I will serve only what is on the menu, and expect prompt and proper pay for the services we provide and, and…oh, dearie, what's happened to your coat?" She abruptly stopped her speech to inspect a tear in Enjolras' brown jacket. "Why, you've torn the button right off."

He cleared his throat. "Oh, yes, it's been broken for some time now. I just keep forgetting to have it fixed."

"Now, that won't do at all," Madame insisted, her motherly instinct taking over her business tone. "Here, give it to me and I'll fix it right away. I think I have a similar button."

"Oh, no, really it isn't necessary—"

"That wasn't a request, love," she said, taking the jacket off for him, "A young man like you needs a good, solid coat, and—oh! This isn't very well-made at all!" She turned the coat over, tsking at its shoddy quality. "My goodness, I cannot allow a handsome man like you to walk around in a rag like this any longer. Come with me, I have just the thing."

Marie interrupted, afraid of what might happen if she let this go on any further. "Mother, really, his coat is none of our business, and I'm sure they would like to see the room—"

"Marie, really," her mother admonished quietly, "Where is your courtesy? You'll never reign in a husband like that."

"Mother!" she squeaked, and watched amusement cross Enjolras' face for the first time.

"Now, if you insist on taking them upstairs, I'll meet you in a moment." Her mother waved them away, though Marie was a bit worried about leaving her by herself to "fix" the man's coat.

Marie led them up the back staircase and into the room she hoped was at least suitable. Neither man said anything for a moment, and Marie's anxious gaze picked out several of the room's insufficiencies while she waited for a response.

Finally, Combeferre sighed. "This is exactly what we need. Isn't it, Enjolras?"

He wrinkled his nose. "It's a bit smaller than I imagined."

Combeferre shrugged. "But, as much as you hate to admit it, it's much less expensive than any other place we could find."

Marie silently cursed herself. She should have charged them more. "Well, I'm glad you like it. You may start renting it any time you wish."

"Tomorrow?" Enjolras asked with a hint of a smile.

Marie opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by her mother's voice coming up the stairs. "Here it is! I knew I had it somewhere!" She came into view, and proudly displayed a bright red, perfectly kept coat.

Marie's eyes widened in horror. "Mother, you aren't thinking that…"

"That this coat would look much better on this young man than in the back of the closet?"

Enjolras' hands shot out in front of him, as if to protect himself from Madame Musain's motherly sentiments. "Oh, no, Madame, really I couldn't possibly…"

"Here, love, try it on," she jerked him around and pulled the coat onto his arms for him. As much as Marie would hate to admit it, he did look dashing in it, as if the coat was made for him.

"There!" her mother cried, "Isn't it wonderful?"

"But it's father's," Marie said quietly.

Madame Musain smoothed the coat thoughtfully. "You know your father always said that there was no sense in keeping anything that another person could use. Besides, this is his soldier's coat, and he was never much of a soldier. And when you walked in here, Monsieur, you reminded me so much of him as a young man. So bright. So handsome." Her mother looked away for a moment, and then turned back to the stairs. "Oh, look at me, getting all sentimental when there's a supper to be put on the table. I hope you enjoy your stay, boys." And she was gone.

Marie didn't know what to say. Enjolras stood in the flashy coat with a look of embarrassed bewilderment, while Combeferre stood behind him, trying his best not to appear ill at ease. Marie couldn't look at either of them when she spoke. "Well, if that's all you need, I'll be going."

"Marie, wait," Enjolras said, stopping her suddenly. She couldn't help but notice it was the first time he had ever addressed her by name, and much to her dismay, she liked the way he said it. She turned and tried her best to look him in the eye.

"Yes, Monsieur?"

"I really can't keep this…"

Marie held up a hand to stop him. "You must. My mother will undoubtedly want to see it on you every time you walk into the café, I'm afraid."

He looked down. "But if it's your father's—"

Marie sighed. "That's a soldier's coat, Monsieur, and my father wasn't a soldier, even if he was in the army. He didn't believe in war," she paused, fumbling with the fold in her apron to avoid his gaze. "Well, maybe that isn't quite right; he really didn't believe in violence. He used to say that there was no sense in going off to fight when there was a war right here in France against poverty and indifference." Marie smiled a bit, remembering how her father's eyes would drift off when he said that, as if he wasn't talking to her, but to the people who passed by on the streets. He wasn't an educated man, but he understood things that no one else did, and Marie loved him most for that.

There was a moment of silence before Enjolras spoke again. "I feel as if that's everything I've been trying to say for years in one sentence."

Marie shrugged. "My father was good with words." She met Enjolras' eyes finally, and looked at him again in the coat. "It suits you well. Wear it proudly."

"I will," he said quietly, looking down at the jacket. He noticed a small pin on the collar, and carefully undid it to get a better look. It was a small and simple gold cross, and Enjolras noticed Marie eyeing it. He handed it to her silently.

She scrunched the corner of her mouth into a smile. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Combeferre said, finally stepping next to Enjolras, "We truly appreciate your service."

She glanced over his shoulder and out the window overlooking the street. All the people in the shops below had no idea what these men had planned for them. She shook her head, and looked directly at Enjolras when she spoke.

"Just don't make me regret it."