"Amazing!" Jean Prouvaire marveled after Enjolras explained what had occurred. "You have all of the wear and tear of a life time on your frame; yet none of the wisdom gained."

Bahorel snorted in approval. "Nicely put, Jehan."

The poet colored quickly. "I didn't mean...that is....I think perhaps I could have phrased...."

"Forget it, Prouvaire." Enjolras muttered, leaning backwards in his chair. "We'll just have to...to..." Within minutes he was snoring noisily with his mouth wide open and a tendril of drool cascading down his chin.

Coufeyrac stared, his eyes watering with mirth. "I never...want to forget this moment." He told Bahorel.

Joly frowned and looked at Prouvaire anxiously. "What if he passes on?"

"With the racket he's making he's more likely to wake the dead, than he is to join them." Bahorel muttered, crumpling a cloth napkin and shoving it into Enjolras' open maw.

Enjolras gagged and shot daggers at his friends as he clutched the sodden cloth. Prouvaire motioned with his head towards Bahorel, in what he hoped was a discreet manner. Enjolras obligingly gave Bahorel a chilling look. "If you are all quite done having your fun, could we possibly set out and see if we can get me back to my youth? And...Joly, kindly stop checking my pulse. I assure you if I expire you'll know it. Now, can we please go?"

Courfeyrac looked put out. "But I wanted 'ferre and the others to see you like this."

"Your concern is heartwarming." Enjolras said sardonically.

"We ought to get you a warmer coat or a scarf." Jean Prouvaire said. "We always keep my Grandpere Bernard warm whenever we take him places. Of course, he's convinced he's a Shetland pony, so often we just throw a blanket on him when...we..." Prouvaire blushed and trailed off when he saw how his friends were looking at him. "Or perhaps you're warm enough, Enjolras." He amended.

"I'm tired." Enjolras muttered. "I feel like I've run a race...and I've only walked a few blocks and climbed a few stairs." He ran a hand over his bald head and winced, feeling the pangs of self-consciousness. "Courfeyrac, go ahead an order your meal. I'll join you in dining...perhaps after I eat I'll feel stronger."

"Make certain you order something soft, aged leader. You have more gaps than teeth." Bahorel advised.

"Thank you." Enjolras replied, making it clear with his tone that he meant something else entirely. "Courfeyrac, could you hang my hat up?"

"Of course ancient one." Courfeyrac grabbed that hat and tossed it into the air, sneezing violently as something came off of it. He went into the back of the room to hang up the offending hat. Courfeyrac passed a mirror and dropped the hat on the floor. It rolled in a neat circle at his feet, while he stared at the mirror in good natured disbelief.

Then he shrugged and went back to his friends. No use in belaboring the obvious, he thought cheerfully. They were bound to notice anyway...there really wasn't any point in exclaiming 'Hey I look like a prune with feet!' or the like. No, it was just much easier (and vastly more entertaining) to pretend as if nothing were wrong and to look up with polite incredulity when someone pointed out he now resembled an Egyptian mummy.

Courfeyrac grinned with anticipation as he made his way to sit down beside Enjolras.

He loved his life.