Éponine awoke, gasping.

"Shut up, will you?" her father muttered, throwing something at her.

It bounced off of her head and rolled away into the darkness.

Azelma awoke, screaming. "THAT WAS THE MOST HORRIBLE THING I'VE EVER SEEN IN ALL MY WAKING LIFE!"

"Sleeping life," Éponine corrected her. "Bad dream?"

"Yeah."

"It couldn't have been worse than mine."

Azelma squinted at her. "And what was your dream, then?"

"Well... it was about Montparnasse. And you know Inspector Javert, right? I dreamed that Montparnasse saved Inspector Javert from being... well, gang raped."

"That's not bad," Azelma snorted, "it's just weird."

"And creepy. What was your dream, if you're so smart?"

Azelma leaned forward dramatically. "Mine was about Montparnasse too. I dreamed that Montparnasse had to... kiss... Inspector Javert!"

"Oh, right. As if that would ever happen."

"It could!"

"Could not."

"Could so!"

Both girls were silenced as heavy objects, hurled by their angry father, bounced off of their heads and knocked them out cold.

"For the last time," Montparnasse called over his shoulder; "it was not a kiss!"

Javert continued to wipe her lips against the hem of her dress, pausing every moment or so to spit or clean her tongue with her sleeve. "I had heard things about you, boy," she said between gags, "but I never imagined you could be this far gone! I told you quite clearly that I am Inspector Javert! I have no romantic interest in you, or in any man!"

"Or woman," Montparnasse sighed. Javert failed to hear. "Look, m'sieur, I'm just going to lead you out of here, all right? That way you can get back to the station, find those students, and have them change you back."

"And throw you all in jail," the whore added gruffly.

"You know," said Montparnasse, "I don't even care. I just want this to be over."

"Very well," Javert agreed, getting to her feet. "Let's go."

Enjolras smiled again. He had been smiling quite a lot lately. "Ah," he sighed. "Nothing could ruin my good spirits today, Grantaire. Nothing at all. After all, Javert is dead and I can conduct my revolution in peace."

Combeferre and Jehan puzzled over this last phrase.

Marius frowned at him. "I thought Javert was rather nice. He helped me out a few days ago, anyway. But I forgot his name."

"If you forgot his name, how'd you know that's who they were talking about?" Courfeyrac asked.

"What?" replied Marius.

Courfeyrac shook his head sadly.

Enjolras leapt onto a table. "Let me hear everyone say it!" he cried. "Inspector Javert is dead!"

"Inspector Javert is dead!"

Grantaire said nothing, but resignedly nursed a half-empty bottle.

Enjolras hopped from table to table, finally planting both his feet on either side of Grantaire's absinthe. "Say it, winec— um, Grantaire. Say it!"

"Don't wanna," the drunk muttered into the bottle.

"What? Come on, just say it! 'Inspector Javert is dead'! I need to hear those words."

Grantaire looked blearily up at him. "Do you need to hear all those words exactly?"

"WHAT?" the blond hissed, dropping to his knees and bring his face hardly an inch from Grantaire's. "You mean he's alive?"

"Well," Grantaire slurred, "he really isn't as dead as we might have hoped."

Enjolras brought his face even closer. Their noses were touching. "Tell me you're lying."

Grantaire smiled stupidly, kissed Enjolras's nose, and collapsed into a drunken slumber.