Grantaire gazed upwards at the sign towering over him: The Café Musain. He took a deep and uneven breath, trying to prepare himself to enter the building. Everything else had been taken care of. He had said tearful farewells to Cosette and her father, promising to visit often. He had settled back into a tiny room a few blocks away from the meeting place of Les Amis. He had even waited a few days to make sure that he would not revert back to his old ways once he was not under Monsieur Fauchelevant's watchful eye. Everything was as it should be. But Grantaire was terrified. He had so many doubts and fears. The boys had never been that fond of him in the first place; why should they accept him now? He had no political affiliations. He knew almost no French history; Grantaire was completely unequipped to discuss the French Revolution. Or any revolution for that matter. He wasn't handsome. He wasn't resourceful, or hardworking, or intelligent. Why should the boys accept him at all? But Grantaire sighed, knowing that he had no choice but to enter. He steeled himself, and pushed open the door.
"Bonjour, Monsieur!"
Grantaire wheeled to face the direction in which the voice was coming from. Then his heart sank into his feet; it was the gargantuan proprietress. Grantaire took a step backwards, intent on making a run for it before the woman decided to take revenge on him.
She followed him. "Monsieur! Wait! Do not leave. What's your drink? Why don't you sit down and have one on the house. We almost never get prominent people like you, Monsieur, here in our modest establishment."
She didn't recognize me! Grantaire thought. He was dumbfounded. Had his transformation really been that complete? He decided to take her up on her offer.
"Thank you, good Madame." He went over and sat at a table. "I think I will just have a coffee, Madame. Two lumps of sugar, no cream, please."
"You don't want to try our wine, Monsieur? It's renowned all over this side of Paris."
Grantaire hesitated. A glass of wine sounded excellent right about now. Finally, he replied, "No, thank you. Coffee is good for me."
The proprietress shrugged. "Suit yourself, Monsieur. But I must say, you have missing out."
Grantaire smiled, and patted the woman's hand. "Maybe so," he said. "But I don't drink." The proprietress gave a slight nod. "I will be right back with your coffee Monsieur." She left.
Grantaire's mind was spinning. Wine! He had turned down the best wine in Paris! Suddenly he felt as if he could do anything. He could even win over Les Amis...and Enjolras.
"My good citizen," a powerful voice behind him rung, startling Grantaire from his thoughts. He swung around as he said, "Pardon?" Then he gasped. It was Enjolras. And he had no idea who Grantaire was. Grantaire's heart quickened considerably. He broke out into a slight sweat. His breath became shallow, and he was unable to move.
"Monsieur?" Enjolras bent down and looked him in the face. "Are you quite alright?"
"Enjolras?" Grantaire whispered, completely in awe of the younger man in front of him.
Enjolras straightened and took a step back, assuming his usual authoritative stance. He looked at Grantaire quizzically, and asked, "Have we met before?"
Grantaire took a deep breath, and, in an instant, decided to go for it. "Enjolras," he said slowly. "It's me…Grantaire."
Enjolras' cobalt eyes widened, and he was silent.
Combeferre materialized behind Enjolras. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Hello, Combeferre," said Grantaire.
"Grantaire!" Combeferre exclaimed in recognition. "Grantaire. I-you…You look….What happened? We haven't seen you in over a month! You look like a completely different person."
"I am," answered Grantaire.
He stood up and held his hand out to Combeferre. He took it warmly, then grabbed Grantaire in a rough embrace. "Come sit with us, friend, and tell us all where you're been for the past month. We're all curious about your adventure."
He led Grantaire over to where the rest of the boys were sitting. "
Enjolras!" Combeferre called back over his shoulder. "Come listen to Grantaire's tale!" Wordlessly, Enjolras followed.
"Les Amis!" Combeferre called towards the group of boys sitting over in the corner. "An old friend has decided to compliment us with a visit!"
The entire group looked up at Grantaire. At first, no one knew who he was. Then looks of recollection and acknowledgment slowly began to form upon their faces.
"Gee, Grantaire! You look like a king!" piped up Joly.
Courfeyrac came over and slapped Grantaire on the back. "It's great to see you again, Grantaire!" he roared.
One by one, they all greeted him; even the timid Marius had a smile and a hello for him. Only Enjolras remained silent. His eyes never left Grantaire, and he seemed to be wordlessly evaluating him. His expression was impossible to read. Whether he was feeling admiration or contempt none could tell.
Combeferre pulled up a high backed chair, and beckoned for Grantaire to sit in it. "Grantaire," he said. "Tell us all where you've been, and what's happened to you to make you look and act so grand!" The boys all supplied their own sanctions and requests. Almost shyly, Grantaire conceded.
He started from when he was ejected from the Café Lemblin, and ended when he moved back into his own room. He told of his constant arguments with Cosette. He told of his splitting headaches. But most of all, he told of the compassion and kindness of Cosette and Jean Valjean, and how they were willing to do anything for him. The only thing that Grantaire left out was his struggle for sobriety. He still felt that he would be ridiculed for his former drunkenness. For Grantaire, the best way to deal with that problem was to ignore it altogether.
When he was finished, the boys all gathered around him, clapping him on the back, and congratulating him on his success.
"Well," said Courfeyrac. "There's just one thing left to do. I propose a toast to Grantaire, with the best wine in Paris!"
Grantaire trembled inside. Was this to be his final test? Right here, where, if he did not succeed, everyone he had ever cared about could witness his failure? Where Enjolras could decide that his contempt for Grantaire was well-founded? As Grantaire fought within himself, Courfeyrac was busy visiting each boys' wineglass with a splash of spirits. Finally, he reached Grantaire. Grantaire felt Enjolras' eye boring into him.
"Here you are, Grantaire! Your favourite! The best wine in Paris. And it's on us!" He made ready to pour a glass.
Grantaire took a deep breath. It would just be so easy to give up, and drink that wine that he so desperately wanted. Why continue his abstinence? He had already won what he wanted, the acceptance of Les Amis. But then he remembered the voice of Jean Valjean: You must realise that your lust for alcohol has been the source of all of the misfortunes that you have suffered. But it was so hard! Grantaire looked Courfeyrac right full in the face, ready to accept his damning gift. Then he looked at all the others in turn. He saw their camaraderie and respect for one another. Was it worth it? Was it worth the sacrifice? Grantaire realised that it was either alcohol or the boys. Or being happy. Being someone. His eyes rested finally on Enjolras' perfect and disapproving face, and he sighed. All in an instant, he made his choice.
"None for me, dear Courfeyrac," he softly declined. He looked awkward and uncomfortable. "I've given up the stuff."
A hush of silence fell upon the group. Everyone was incredulous to say the least.
Enjolras silently walked over to Grantaire. He crouched down in front of him, and lay his hand on Grantaire's arm. Just the hint of a smile played upon his lips. Grantaire unconsciously held his breath, fearing that the smallest movement would frighten the beautiful boy away. Enjolras nodded at him, and finally spoke. "Good work, Grantaire."
Grantaire's eyes filled up with tears. He then took Enjolras' hand and shook it soundly. Cheer broke out from the rest of the group. In the midst of the adulation, Grantaire raised his hand, and called out to the proprietress, "Madame, I think I'll have that coffee now!"