"Courfeyrac, you take the watch, they may attack before it's light. Everybody, keep the faith. For certain as our banner flies, we are not alone. The people too must rise."
Enjolras finishes his speech and finds his solitude on the other side of the cafe. He has come here to think. Nothing has gone at all like they had planned; he expected the people of Paris to come out of their homes, bearing their arms and crying for justice, giving them the support they needed. But they haven't moved. No one has come to help them. They are utterly and completely alone, and Enjolras knows that the people that had once sided with him are cowering in behind their shutters, waiting for it to pass. He doesn't know what to do. Their fearless leader is overcome with guilt and fear. He has led these boys to their deaths, and he knows it. He knows it. Theresé would never forgive him for this.
He throws himself down onto the small steps and leans his head back against the crumbling wall, closing his eyes and breathing in the misery that surrounds him until sleep finally claims him. He doesn't notice that someone is watching him from the shadows, as they always have been. She stands in front of him, taking in his ragged appearance; his bloodied clothes and the sadness in his features. Enjolras still doesn't know she is there, but then, no one ever does. She adjusts his revolutionary patch on his jacket, and runs her hands along his brow to smooth his hair away. She smiles a sad little smile as he twitches at the contact. She moves to kiss his eyelids tenderly, while whispering a promise that sends cool air across Enjolras' face, causing his eyes to snap open as he feels the presence now disappear.
Do not worry, Monsieur. We will be together again soon.
