But my fears proved unfounded; it was only Joly.
At first, the sight of the dog-wrought carnage rendered him mute, but his silence was soon broken by a solitary sneeze. And another. And another. And another. And another.
Between sneezes, Joly asked, "Is there a dog here?" Feeling that it was my duty to take charge, I rose with an affirmation forming on my lips. But I was cut off by a feeble, "The dog is mine." Marius pointed to the spot in the heap of debris in the corner.
"I am dreadfully allergic to dogs."
"I know."
Tache, as if he knew that he was the subject of conversation, rose from the fragments of table, and eagerly padded up to the doctor. Joly sneezed.
"Tache," said Courfeyrac. "Come here. Joly is allergic to you." He was answered by an angry snarl, and he involuntarily took a step backwards.
Joly, without looking away from Tache, said to Marius, "Marius, you said this is your dog?"
"Somewhat, yes."
"He is a beautiful animal."
"He is a brute!" exclaimed Grantaire. Both the dog and the doctor shot him nasty looks, and, abashed, he went back to nursing his arm.
None of us spoke for another few minutes.
Finally, Joly looked up at Marius with a look of pure joy on his face. "Oh Marius!" he exclaimed. "I must have him!"
"Pardon!"
"Oh, please, Marius, let me have him!"
"You can take him! His name is Tache, and he is yours if you want him!"
"Tache?" said Joly. "What a silly name. Who thought of it?"
Marius' self-conscious expression was all the answer he needed.
"But Joly," Combeferre began, stepping out from behind the overturned table. "Aren't you allergic to dogs?"
"I am allergic to everything!" Joly replied. "What is a dog when I can't eat cheese or smell roses? I will live with him as I have lived with everything else!"
The rest of us exchanged confused looks, but we all said nothing.
"Well," grunted Grantaire. "Get that monster out of here. Beast almost killed me." I must say that, in spite of myself, I was grateful to the scoundrel for saying what was on all of our minds, but what none of us could actually get away with saying.
Joly took the time to give Grantaire one last haughty look, then he left with Tache, grinning and wagging his tail, trailing behind him.
"What now?" said Courfeyrac.
"I must write this down!" exclaimed Jehan.
"Ah," began Grantaire. "I suggest we run."
"Why?" Combeferre asked.
"Because I think I hear the proprietress coming out from the back rooms."
We all gasped, and, quickly grabbing our belongings, scrambled out of the café like frightened squirrels.
The next day, while I was wandering about the streets of Paris in search of another asylum for the revolution, I simply could not help at least passing by the Café Musain. The closer I came, the more I happened to see a white spot on the door. Curious, I approached. It was a white sign, on which had been written in large capital letters a simple message.
NO DOGS ALLOWED.
And I continued on my way.