The door suddenly flew open, and there was Marius. The boy was barely recognizable in his present condition. His shirt was mud stained and ripped in several places, revealing deep teeth marks on his arms and chest. Somewhere in his travels he had lost his waistcoat. The boy's black hair was dishevelled and soaked with sweat. His fair face contorted into wild shapes as he struggled with a rope. No, actually, it was a leash. My mistake.

Marius gave on last vehement yank on the leash, and, to the boy's surprise, the great beast yielded. He came bounding inside, while his unfortunate owner was struck down by inertia. However, to the proprietress' great luck, Marius fell in the exact same place that Courfeyrac had an hour earlier; no more of her furniture was the destroyed, the splinters merely became more splinters.

The good creature stood in the centre of the room with the hubris of a Roman warhorse. Endeared somewhat by the dog's noble attitude, I slowly advanced with my hand outstretched, looking to make a new friend.

In the meanwhile, Courfeyrac and Jean Prouvaire had run to Marius' side.

"Marius, dear God! Are you alright?" I heard Courfeyrac desperately ask his friend. I did not hear a reply, though I am sure Courfeyrac received one.

"Ah, Enjolras-"

Upon hearing that voice behind me, my anger blazed up anew. I spun around, shouting, "WHAT DID I TELL YOU-"

But Grantaire somehow raised his voice above my own, and bellowed, "Bloody HELL, Enjolras, the dog's going to attack!"

And indeed, when I turned back around, I slowly became aware of a low growl. Tache, while my back was turned, had crouched low and bared his formidable teeth in a decisive snarl. I froze completely, lest some miniscule movement incur the wrath of that mighty animal.

"Now back away slowly, unless you want to look like Pontmercy over there," Grantaire instructed.

I did what I was told, hardly aware that I was taking orders from the drunkard.

After what seemed like an eternity, I was once again safe beside Combeferre at our round table in the back of them room. Grantaire leaned smugly against the back of a chair. I found his manner maddening and offensive.

"Are you quite alright?" Combeferre asked me, lightly resting his hand on my arm.

"Yes."

With an angry sigh, Grantaire turned around and whispered, "Hush! Don't irritate that beast when Marius is so close!"

I turned away from Combeferre and discovered that whilst I had been so absorbed in him, Marius Pontmercy had approached Tache, leash in hand, with a countenance that told that he was using every ounce of courage in his lithe body not to take flight from the dog.

"Tttache?" the brave boy stammered, holding out the leash.

The dog growled, dropping down to his haunches as he had to me just moments earlier.

Marius gulped.

With a violent bark, Tache hurled himself at Marius. Reacting with an equally violent yelp, Marius fled, with the grey dog noisily pursing him around the café.

The passed our table, both dog and boy panting madly, though for different reasons. Combeferre and I, seeking refuge from the pandemonium, pressed ourselves to the wall, then covered ourselves with the table. We watched Marius take a sharp turn away from us toward the door. Unfortunately, Tache's reflexes did not allow him to react that quickly. He barrelled into Grantaire, hurling him to the floor, and continued right on into the bar, knocking down a stool. One by one, the stools fell into each other, creating a clamour which shook the very walls of the establishment. The dog howled again and relaunched himself at Marius, who was cowering at the far end of the bar among Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire and the ruins of the furniture. All three of them seemed frozen with fear until the last possible second, when they all dispersed in three directions. Again, the massive Tache's reflexes failed him, and he crashed unceremoniously into the wall next to the door.

"Dear God,' Combeferre murmured beside me.

In the meantime, the dreadful reverberations which had originated from the dog's collision were spreading throughout the room like ripples in a pond. I heard a growing clanging, so I jerked my head over to the bar. Hundreds of wineglasses shuddered and trembled on rickety shelves further weakened by the vibrations. Involuntarily, I held my breath, yielding to an unconscious fear that any stray motion may upset that delicate balance which existed so near to me. But to no avail.

With a grand clatter, every single shelf in the Café Musain gave way, and every single wineglass fell to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.

Our eyes bulged, our mouths fell open, all was still, and even Tache was respectful enough to dignify the event with a moment of silence.

My dear Combeferre broke the hush with the grim question which we were all thinking: "Do any of you know where the proprietress is?"

"Hopefully out for the afternoon," answered Grantaire. He has righted himself when I was not looking. His left shirt sleeve was ripped, revealing a long and red claw gash marking his arm from shoulder to elbow, which dripped blood unto the floor.

At that precise moment, the door slowly creaked open. My heart nearly ceased to beat in my chest in the fears that it may have been she of whom we had just spoken. Surely her fury would forever cast us from our haven, and then from where would the revolution be born?