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It was without a doubt the most unpleasant meal either of the boys had ever attended. Without the presence of René and Christine, Julien found himself very much outnumbered and set upon by the rest of his family.

From the moment they took their seats, Julien felt his father's eyes derisively burn him, lingering on his swollen lip. With satisfaction, he noticed that he had managed to give Louis a fine bruise, though of course that would never be mentioned.

"I trust you are not wasting your time in Paris, Julien." his father snapped abruptly, startling the young man. "I had my doubts about sending you there. You'd better be giving your studies every consideration."

"Of course I am!" Julien replied tensely, meeting his father's cold blue stare.

"I'm surprised you're managing to fit them in, with all the time you must spend associating with the dregs of the gutter!" sniggered Antoine.

"Shut up!" Julien replied icily.

"Enough Julien! Evidently you have failed to mature or to improve your manners while you've been away! You mind your tongue, my boy, or I shall make you regret it very much indeed!" Julien fairly simmered at the unfairness of this, but wisely kepy silent.

Etienne felt nervous and uncomfortable. Had they been alone with Julien's brothers, he would have had no hesitation in retorting sarcastically to the way they sniggered at the class of people their little brother associated with in Paris. However, Julien's parents were present and M. Enjolras was his own father's oldest friend, so he resolved to be nothing but polite unless circumstances really did demand otherwise.

Looking over at Julien, who was sitting opposite him, he realised that his friend was not eating much. He also looked even paler than usual. Etienne was astute enough to realise that most of this paleness was caused by anger at the scornful questions being thrown at him from all angles, demanding to know what his friends did and what class they were.

"I've read the letters you sent to Christine, Julien." his mother informed him, as Etienne watched Julien flush darkly with suppressed fury. "You certainly seem to be mixing with a low bunch. That boy...what was his name?...Christophe. He is certainly not the type of person we'd want you to mix with. He seems very badly brought up."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that." said Julien evenly. "He's the son of Jean-Claude Joly, who works for the government." He knew that this was a fact Joly was not particularly proud of, but he couldn't resist mentioning it to see look of floundered shock on his mother's face. Etienne bit down a chuckle. This only served to show how shallow his friend's parents really were.

They went on to pass judgement on many of their friends. Courfeyrac did not seem to be very sensible, Bahorel would undoubtedly end up a drunk, Feuilly was too common to mention…Julien clenched his fists under the table and fought to remain calm. He had told Christine about his friends because he knew she would like them. He had not sent the letters home so his parents could scorn them.

He wanted nothing more than to give into his fury and tell his father and his brothers what he thought of them – as he had on several occasions before, and been severely chastised for it– but he was terrified that his father might throw him out and thus prevent him from saying goodbye to Christine. That would be a harsher punishment than any thrashing. So for now, he bit his tongue and thought of something else.

Etienne meanwhile, was musing on the contrast between Enjolras's father and his own. The first thing Dr Combeferre had done was embrace him and ask how his studies were going, while M. Enjolras had not even let his youngest son take his seat before he started hurling scornful comments at him.

But it had always been the case. Even when they were little boys, Julien had never had much love directed at him. While Etienne's father sent for him in the evening, after he had finished his rounds, and spent an hour reading to him before bedtime, Julien was simply handed over to his tutor and sent upstairs without so much as a 'goodnight'. When Julien's brother Nicholas had died, Dr Combeferre had hugged his son and told him that it was all right to weep, while M. Enjolras had scolded Julien for shedding tears and gone out of his way to heap spiteful criticisms on the already distressed young child.

Similarly, when they had gotten into one of their notorious childhood scrapes, Etienne's punishment had been a stern scolding and then he had been sent to bed, while poor Julien – who had usually followed Etienne and Nicholas into the mischief – was turned over his father's knee and soundly thrashed. The contrast seemed brutally unfair to Etienne, and he privately thought that it was this treatment which had made his best friend into the solemn, quiet, determined character the Amis now knew.

"What's the matter, petit?" sneered Louis. "Is the food too sophisticated for you, after dining in the commonest cafés of Paris?"

"I'm not very hungry." answered Julien quietly, pushing the food around the plate in front of him.

"Well if you're used to eating that little, it's no wonder you look about fifteen years old instead of nineteen!" sneered his father, causing Julien to blush a rosy red. Etienne sighed, furious on his friend's behalf, and wished that the meal would end soon.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was a great relief to the pair of them when they were finally permitted to leave the dining room and return upstairs. Louis and Antoine accompanied their parents through to the parlour, but neither Julien nor Etienne had any wish to join them.

They headed straight for Christine's room as soon they climbed the stairs. She was sleeping again, sedated, but they could hear from the doorway that her breathing was shallow and wheezy.

René was sitting at her elbow, silently stroking her bright blond curls, while Dr Combeferre was packing his instruments into his bag as quietly as he could.

"How is she?" whispered Julien from the doorway, causing his brother and Dr Combeferre to look up, startled.

"Not good." replied René sadly. "She's restless and sore, and her temperature is slowly getting higher. I…I don't think she's got long, Julien."

"What?" Julien's face drained of the little colour it had. "I thought you said she had a few days!"

"We thought she might last a little longer." said Rene, standing up to wrap an arm around his stoic younger brother. "And half of me wishes that she will. But the other half…Julien she's in so much pain. You must have seen it earlier. I just want her to be at peace."

"Your brother is right, Julien." said Dr Combeferre gravely, as he put on his jacket. "Though part of us wishes to hold on to her, we must be willing to accept that this is the road which is best for her, regardless of how much pain it causes us."

He turned to his son, who was watching this exchange sadly; compassion radiating from his warm brown eyes.

"I am off now, Etienne." he said, stepping forward to embrace his son. "I trust you will be all right here."

"Of course I will, Papa." said Etienne, though he was unable to summon a smile.

"Look after Julien." his father whispered in his ear, then ruffled his hair. "I shall see you tomorrow."

"I will. Goodnight Papa." called Etienne softly, as his father exited the room. "Tell the girls and Maman that I will come to see them before we return to Paris."

And suddenly, Dr Combeferre was gone and the room was far too quiet. Christine's shallow, painful breathing was the only sound that could be heard, as they sat like three statues, and simply waited for the tragedy that they knew was going to happen.