Enjolras glared at Combeferre, but his mild friend stood firm.
"I couldn't let you go off by yourself like that. Not when you're so obviously upset."
"I am not upset."
Still wearing a disbelieving face, Combeferre reached out to grasp Enjolras' left arm, the one farthest from him. His grip was frim enough that Enjolras could not shake it off casually. As Combeferre drew the arm forward, Enjolras tried to unclench his fist, but the tension was too great.
Combeferre frowned at the fist. "What's wrong, my friend?"
Hating that they were on a street corner and embarrassed that Combeferre had caught him in an obvious lie, Enjolras kept silent for a moment. Eventually he said in a low tone, "I came here last night, checking on Grantaire. He was here, but he'd forgotten his errand." His friend's concern lay between them, unwanted. "I was turning to leave when he saw me. He began. So I know that he tried."
"And then what happened?"
"I left." Enjolras shrugged. "I took your reports, but I did not give my own. The Courgarde were resentful. If I don't go to Aix by the--" He paused to count the days in his mind. "By three days from now, I'll lose them entirely."
"In Provence?"
Enjolras nodded. "I don't have time for this. Or that. Yet I sent a man to do a job -- a job for which he was ill-suited -- and now he's missing. That is my responsibility."
"But not yours alone," Combeferre said gently, releasing his grip on Enjolras' arm to gesture with both hands. "Grantaire went there willingly. And we'll find him somewhere. He'll turn up."
Enjolras shook his head doubtfully, and told Combeferre the rest of what he'd learned.
"Pere Bayon's? Surely not."
"I would not have gone. You would not have gone. But Grantaire? Who knows? I can't guess whether it was inebriation or bravado."
"Are you sure he's been arrested?"
Enjolras shrugged. "I'm not sure of anything. We'll have to see. If he was, I don't want to imagine the consequences."
"He would not betray... us."
"He may not realize that was what he was doing." He frowned and waved a hand dismissively. "The man's a drunkard. How could he be aware of anything?"
Combeferre simply stood and looked at him. After several minutes, his green eyes dropped to study the stones on the road. "I don't know, Enjolras. As you said, we'll have to see."
"It's late," Enjolras said. "We should get back to the others."
"Don't you want to check out Pere Bayon's?"
His frown deepening, Enjolras said, "Why? He wouldn't still be there. Either he was arrested or he escaped. If he's... free, one of the others has probably found him."
Combeferre nodded silently and followed Enjolras back to the Musain. The weight of those disapproving eyes against his back angered Enjolras, but he kept his peace. They were the last to return to the café.