Grantaire's eyes slowly flickered open. He felt consciousness returning...and he didn't like it much. Groaning, he managed to push himself upright. Rubbing his eyes, the haze covering his surroundings slowly wore away. Grantaire was amazed to find himself in a real bed in a real room instead of a jail cell. What luck! He looked about to further investigate, and immediately found himself looking into a fierce pair of blue eyes: Javert. But as the Inspector had doffed his hat, Grantaire did not recognize him. Grantaire gaped at him in utter ignorance of his situation. The proprietress and her son sat nearby. Opulent clothing lay over all of the chairs, and an ivory washtub had been placed on a table. Several serving girls stood in the corner holding plates heaped high with candied fruits and chocolates. Even the bed which held Grantaire had been outfitted with purple linen sheets and perfumed with roses.

"My lord!" Javert exclaimed, easily stepping into his role. "Finally you have awoken!"

Grantaire blinked. "Pardon?"

Javert feigned surprise. "My lord...you mean you do not remember?"

"Pardon?"

Grasping for patience, Javert explained, "My lord, you have just recovered your senses after seven long years of believing yourself to be no more than a mere student."

"Pardon!"

The proprietress stepped in. "Your Honour, would a glass of sherry please you?"

"It may help to revive you, my lord," her son added.

"My lord!" Grantaire exclaimed. "I am not your lord. Call me 'Grantaire,' for that is my name. Or drunken bastard if you must, at least it suits me better!"

Javert shook his head and sighed, "My poor lord. He still has not yet completely thrown off his madness."

Grantaire scowled. "If I am mad, the cause is you, sir!" He rose and made for the door.

"Now I bid you good day!"

"Is it any wonder that your family has forsaken you? This lunacy has driven them leagues from your house!" Javert turned towards Grantaire, who was fumbling with the door knob. "And to think all you have given up! Servants ready at your beck and call, a beautiful white townhouse with a stable in the back, personal tailors, butlers and chefs, exotic birds with voices that Apollo himself would be jealous of..."

At the mention of Apollo, Grantaire swung around. "What now?"

"Beds laid out with perfumes and silken pillows for any lustful purpose..."

"Lust for Apollo, huh..."

"And a thousand hawks and greyhounds to aid you in sport. Oh, my lord! It really is a shame."

"Ah, wait a moment there..."

"And to think of his poor lover!" exclaimed the proprietress. This sparked a choir of chatters from the serving girls. "For such a beautiful boy to be all alone is tragic. The poor thing!"

Javert leaned in to her. "He will be most distraught." He winked at her, and turned back to Grantaire. "But if our lord has truly not recovered..."

Grantaire stepped into the centre of the room and began to examine himself. Staring at his hands, he asked, "Is it true? Am I a lord? Do I have such a lover? Or do I dream?" He faced Javert and smiled. "No, I believe that I have dreamed until now. I do not sleep. I see! I hear! I speak! Upon my life, I am a lord indeed!" The drunkard assumed a stance he thought looked regal, but it really just made him look ridiculous. He eyed the others present in the room. "Well, what are you all standing about for? How about some of that sherry you mentioned; I must say I'm fairly parched after my nap. Oh, and this lover of which you speak! Bring him to me. Perhaps he would also like some spirits to raise him some!"

As if on cue, Marius entered. He resembled Enjolras in every respect. The proprietress had lightened his hair with lemon juice and tied it back with a black ribbon. His jacket had been replaced with a resplendent scarlet vest adorned with golden braids. His cravat and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. A revolutionary cockade had been tied about his slender waist. He was miserable.

"Mmmy lord," Marius began. Then he hesitated. If Enjolras ever finds out about this...Javert shot him a furious look. Frightened, Marius rushed out the end of his memorized line. "My love, how are you feeling?"

Grantaire gave him the once over twice, then grinned hungrily. "Enjolras! I am rather pleased to learn that you were not merely a figment of my imagination."

"His was the only name you remembered during your illness," Javert broke in.

"Oh yes, six-"

"Seven!"

"Seven long years! Oh Enjolras..." Grantaire advanced on the young student.

Wincing, Marius replied, "It seemed longer, my love, being parted from your bed every night." Internally, Marius bemoaned his misfortune. Oh why did I have to come to the Cafe Musain tonight! Of all nights!

"Leave us!" Grantaire announced. He snuck around the trembling Marius and ripped off his waist sash. "I mustn't make my dear Enjolras wait any longer for my kiss."

All but Javert made a hasty exit. Grantaire unbuttoned his shirt, slurring out a folk song. Things were about to get ugly for poor Marius.

Marius stiffened. He glanced at Javert, entreating him for any possible aid. He received none. Panicking, he thought fast. "My lord!" He took a step back from the drunkard. "Do you really think it wise? I mean, seven years is such a-a long time. I believe that it may be better to wait a night or two, after you have been examined by the best of Parisian doctors...or at least by Joly."

"Joly?"

Javert violently jabbed Marius in the back and growled. "No. No, ah, not Joly. Apparently you-ah-made him up. My mistake, my lord."

Grantaire's face fell. "Shame...he was rather comely..."

At this, the one of the serving girls reentered the room, looking worried. She hurried over to Javert and whispered something in his ear.

He paled. "Are you sure?" he asked her.

His answer came in the form of a powerful tenor voice booming in from the main room.

"Madam, if you tell me that my fellow citizens and I are not to be admitted into our customary dining room, you must give me a reason!"

Enjolras! Marius fainted. Grantaire took advantage of this opportunity to hoist him up onto the bed.

Footsteps echoed into the room. Javert muttered something to the serving girl under his breath, then turned to Grantaire.

"Please excuse me, my lord." he said, who ignored him, as he was busy trying to undo Marius' pants. Javert then stalked over to the door. But before he had a chance to open it himself, it slammed open in his face, revealing Enjolras, the harried-looking proprietress, a few serving girls fawning over Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly with his arms full of books and papers. Enjolras surveyed the room. His visage became angry and terrible.

"What is this?!" he demanded, marching into the centre of the room. "GRANTAIRE!" At the sound of Enjolras' voice and the mention of his own name, Grantaire turned away from Marius. His entire face lit up upon seeing the God-like figure in the middle of the room. "Two! There are two of them! Oh God! God! I am a believer, because my prayers have just been answered!" He shuffled over to his desire, and told him, "You can just head on over to the bed with the other Enjolras." Grantaire fell to his knees. "Thank you, God, thank you!"

Marius had the extraordinarily bad luck to sit up just at that moment. Seeing Enjolras, all color drained from his face.

"PONTMERCY! WHAT IS THIS ALL ABOUT?!"

Grantaire rose. "Pontmercy? Marius?" He looked crestfallen. "Well, he's a start.."

It was all Marius could do to mutely point at Javert. His eyes were as big as saucers, his mouth had fallen slackly open, and he was ready to pass out again.

"You! You traitor to the people, terror to the fine city of Paris! You must be behind this!"

"You! You traitor to the state, terror of the streets of Paris! You dare show your face here!"

The two men squared off in the centre of the room, shouting vehemently at each other.

"Gee, Marius, you don't look so good," said Joly, flitting over to the bed.

"Grantaire, why don't you tell me what's going on here?" Combeferre fixed his eyes upon the drunkard, who was beginning to doubt the validity of his newly acquired lordship.

"What now? Combeferre?"

The din in the tiny room quickly rose to a fever pitch. Javert and Enjolras had both turned bright red, but had not ceased their bellowing. The confrontation was about to become violent. Javert was brandishing his club at the revolutionary, who fought back with his fearsome and powerful rhetoric. Courfeyrac worked in vain to tear them apart. The chattering of the serving girls became a dull roar. Joly was desperately trying to find something wrong with Marius, who was yelping at him to get off. Grantaire was explaining the situation to Combeferre, clamoring to be heard. The bedlam was starting to even attract attention from outside. A group of people had gathering outside the Cafe Musain; they all were craning their heads to the window, hoping for a glimpse of the pandemonium. It was absolute chaos.

Finally, Combeferre just could not take it anymore. "SILENCE!" he blasted. In surprise, everyone in the room turned to look at him. Quietly, he went on, "I think Grantaire has something to say."

Grantaire hung his head, and said meekly, "I suppose I'm not a lord then after all. Ah, well, it wouldn't have been all that grand after all. Well, except for sleeping with Enjolras. I admit that I really knew all along. What larks!" Weakly, he laughed. "I guess I'll be going now."

"Not so fast!" Javert stepped in front of him.

The proprietress put her hand on Javert's arm, and told him, "Just let him go. I think he's learned his lesson." Grudgingly, Javert moved aside, and Grantaire sidled out.

"Thank God that's over!" Marius exclaimed.

"Not for you it isn't, Pontmercy." Enjolras glared at him. "I think that you and I should have a little talk." Marius gasped, and ran out of the room. The rest of the students bounded after him.

Javert remained stoic. "Good day, madam. I hope that, for your sake, that drunken rascal will not bother you again." He repositioned his hat, and simply walked out, not looking back.