Soon they were both standing by the bed which held Grantaire. Sleep had not silenced his drunken ramblings.
"Another wine, mademoiselle!" he slurred. "And a round for the boys...even Enjolras. Get him drunk for me!" The man laughed in his sleep. "Enjolras! Sleep with me...it's for the good of France!"
Javert raised an eyebrow. This added a whole new dimension to his plot. He slowly turned toward Marius, who still apparently didn't know what to think. Meekly, Marius met Javert's steely gaze-and immediately regretted it.
"Boy," Javert addressed him. "You say you know this revolutionary Enjolras?"
Wincing, Marius nodded. He was beginning to greatly regret his coming out to the Cafe.
"Pontmercy, I want you to impersonate this man in all suits. That done, return here to the drunkard Grantaire. You will pretend to be his lover. Embrace him, kiss him, lay your head upon his shoulder and show complete joy at seeing him restored to health. Tell him that for seven years he thought himself to be no more than a common Parisian student." Javert paused. "And make it convincing!" he growled.
Marius looked like a deer caught in a hunter's snare. "I bbbeg your ppardon?" he stuttered. "You heard me!" "I can't kiss Grantaire!" Marius backed away. "Enjolras...Enjolras will be furious, I will profane the name of Les Amis...oh dear, oh dear...I CAN'T KISS GRANTAIRE!"
Javert growled and advanced upon the quivering boy. "You can and will, or you'll answer to me!" A red sash lay on a nearby chair. Javert picked it up and pulled it tightly around Marius' neck. "You understand, Pontmercy?"