In the main room of the Café Musain, Mireille and Musichetta talked about their day. ". . . and then he took my hand, covered it in kisses, and when he stopped, he slipped this ring on my finger." Mireille held out her hand so the candlelight sparkled off of it.

"You're so lucky," sighed Musichetta, gazing at it. "I've been waiting years for Hyacinthe to propose to me. I wonder if it's even crossed his mind."

"Have I shown you the new fan André gave me?"

"What a coincidence! Hyacinthe gave me a new fan today, too!"

The girls showed their fans to each other. Mireille giggled at Musichetta's. "Are those . . . hyacinths?"

Musichetta blushed. "Yes. Hyacinthe said he had told Feuilly he wanted flowers on it, but hadn't specified what kind. He looked so embarrassed when he gave it to me." She smiled at the rich purple fan. "I love it, though. It will always remind me of him."

"I heard something funny happened with you this morning," said Mireille, picking up her knitting again. "Please tell me, Chetta!"

"Who told you? Oh, but I don't mind." Musichetta leaned forward, her eyes shining. "So I went to Hyacinthe and Bossuet's apartment, because of the picnic. I went in, and there was Hyacinthe lying on the floor passed out! Bossuet figured it was because he saw his doctor bill and fainted. It is quite the hefty sum. I was horrified at the time, but now when I think of dear Hyacinthe splayed out on the floor in his night clothes-" She broke off with a giggle.

Mireille managed an awkward smile, a little in shock that Musichetta could speak of such things. Joly in night clothes! Good heavens . . . she had never seen André in night clothes.

The back door opened and the men drifted out one at a time, so as not to attract attention. Who knew what spies of King Louis-Philippe lurked there? Joly hurried over to the two women as Musichetta continued her story.

"Then Bossuet took poor Hyacinthe and dragged him to the wash basin" (here Joly came up behind Musichetta and began depositing kisses on her neck) "and dunked his head into the water! You should have seen – oh! Hyacinthe!" She glared at him as he looked up.

"What?" he asked, grinning like an idiot.

"I'm trying to tell a story, and you are being very distracting with your smoochy lips." Joly acknowledged this by kissing her thoroughly on the lips. "Hyacinthe!"

Mireille watched with a tight mouth, trying not to laugh. Courfeyrac walked over to her and winked. She knew not to ask how the meeting went until they were alone.

Laigle sidled up and gently pulled Joly off of Musichetta. "Come on. We'll walk you home, Chetta."

Musichetta glared at Joly, who gave her a stupid smile. But when he turned to leave, Mireille saw Musichetta blush and dimple as she followed him and Bossuet out.

In the back room, Enjolras and Combeferre lingered, wrapping up their plans. At last satisfied, Enjolras rolled up his papers and tipped the waitress. Combeferre packed his writing things and looked over the tables to make sure no one had forgotten anything. He came across a tiny silver chain.

"Look, Enjolras," and he held it up.

"What is it?"

"And infant chain. I have one. Someone else must also." He put it in his pocket. "I'll give it to its owner at the next meeting."

"Combeferre . . ."

"How old is everyone?"

Combeferre frowned. "This is random. Why do you want to know?"

"Just tell me."

"Well, Courfeyrac's 25, Laigle and Grantaire are both 29, Prouvaire's 23 . . . Feuilly just turned 28, Joly's 27, Bahorel's 31, and I'll be turning 27 in . . . three weeks, two days. And I assume you know you're 26."

"Mm. Thank you."

"Enjolras, what are you thinking about?" even though Combeferre already knew the answer.

"I just wanted to know how old everyone will be when they die."

Combeferre unlocked the door of his house and softly opened it. But he had hardly hung his coat up when Adelaide rushed out of the bedroom and threw her arms around him. "Etienne!"

"Hey, Posie," he murmured into her hair before gently kissing her on the lips. "How was your evening?"

"I finished the baby's socks. Do you want to see them?" Then she quickly added, "And the meeting?" She smiled and stroked his soft blonde hair.

He took a deep breath. "We're going to riot during General Lamarque's funeral procession tomorrow."

Adelaide clutched him harder. "Riot! Oh, please don't, Etienne! Not now! Not when . . ." She lowered her head.

Combeferre placed his hands on her stomach and sighed. "They need me."

"'They'?"

"The people of Paris, of France. Courfeyrac, Joly, Feuilly. Enjolras."

Tears filled her eyes. "What about me? Etienne, you know what they do with traitors!"

"I cannot abandon them. Posie, give it to the Lord. Whatever happens, He will take care of it." He kissed her forehead. "Whatever happens." He smiled. "I'd like to see those little socks now."