So, as you may have noticed, I at least have access to a computer, suggesting that I'm still not Victor Hugo. None of Les Amis is mine.
In other news, can you spot the Pride and Prejudice reference?
After grabbing his coat and covertly forcing down Luca's hangover cure, Jehan walked down about six flights of stairs that he couldn't remember climbing up the night before. He found Luca waiting for him, wearing a patchy brown coat that was much too big for her.
"Come on, pretty boy!" she called. "I've got to meet Monsieur Morrel soon!"
"I'm right here," Jehan told her, "and I thought you were going to show me Montparnasse."
"I will," she confirmed, leading him along the street at a fair pace. "However, I do have a painting lesson at which I am expected."
"Am I going to watch you paint?" Jehan asked, confused.
"Oh, no. Monsieur Morrel means for our lessons to be private."
"Then what am I supposed to do with myself during your lesson?"
"I have some friends, well, they're Alexandre's friends, but they paint doors and such in a studio beside Monsieur Morrel's. You can spend the morning with them."
"So you're leaving me with strangers," Jehan said dumbly. "This will end well."
"Afraid of getting mugged again?" Luca asked.
Jehan didn't respond, so Luca pulled ahead. This gave her tail a chance to look her over.
The girl, despite the fact that her modest life bordered on a life of poverty, was well-formed. Beneath her coat, she wore a loosely cut, scarlet dress that brushed the ground. Her hair, cut above her shoulders, was a dark gold color that Jehan had never seen before.
Beyond that which we have listed, that which is apparent at a first glance, the girl had something in her air and manner of walking that radiated confidence. She did not hold herself like a homely girl, so she was not one. Jehan was entranced.
"This is the tanner where Michel works," she explained, leaving Jehan to assume that Michel was one of her brothers. She laughed. "Alexandre sometimes says that Michel is the shame of our little family, since Alexandre and I are painters, Julien is a journalist, and what is Michel? A tanner. Are you an artist at all, Monsieur Prouvaire?"
"I write some poetry," Jehan said sheepishly, "but it's not very good."
"Really? Well, you must write me a verse sometime. Ah! Here we are!" She stopped in front of a low building made of sand-colored bricks. "My brother's friends work in here. Let's go in and introduce you!"
"Mademoiselle Luca, perhaps I should just go back to—," Jehan began, but the girl was already on her way inside. He resigned to follow her, as men must have always done.
They found themselves in a spacious room that had no color to it besides the woodwork left out to dry and the artists themselves; there were two young men who were standing in the back, talking in low voices while they worked.
"Marc!" the girl called. "Etienne!" Both men looked up.
"I've brought you a guest, and I expect you to treat him nicely. He's my bourgeois pet, and I can't watch him while I'm in with Morrel," the girl said with authority. She didn't even ask if they would allow Jehan to stay, but the question hung in the air nonetheless.
"Come right in, Monsieur…" the taller of the two men began.
"Prouvaire," Jehan said.
"Yes, yes. Come on in, Monsieur Prouvaire. My name is Etienne Grantaire, and this is my partner, Marc Debray. Are you new to the quartier?"
Luca cackled when he said this, and turned sweetly to Jehan. "I'll let you tell that story," she said and, after bidding the other two adieu, she was out the door."
"What story is she talking about?" asked the one called Grantaire with a grin.
Jehan opened his mouth to respond, closed it again, and then began.
"I wandered into Montparnasse last night after having one too many glasses of absinthe, and I picked a fight with some tramps. Mademoiselle Luca dragged me away and let me sleep on her couch last night."
Debray was chuckling a little bit, but Grantaire burst into full-blown laughter once Jehan had finished his little explanation.
"Too much absinthe," he said with mirth. "Really, Prouvaire, you're quite a joker."
"Our friend Monsieur Grantaire is a champion of drinks," Debray told Jehan. "He's never heard of such a thing as too much absinthe. I fear you've given him a great shock."
"Shut up, you brute," Grantaire snapped in good humor. "You don't want me to make any new friends because you want me all to yourself."
Debray rolled his eyes and returned to his work.
"Tell me, Prouvaire," Grantaire began, seeming to sober up for just a moment, "are you totally unfamiliar with Montparnasse, or do you actually do something creative?"
Debray scoffed. "You have an infallible gift for wording things badly, 'Tienne. That just sounded offensive when you said it."
"Well," Grantaire defended himself, "I want to know."
"Are you an artist?" Debray asked. "I'll admit to being curious."
"I write poetry," Jehan answered simply. This answer was met by a cheer from Grantaire.
"We need more of those!" he exclaimed in a gay tone. "Drinks all around!"
"You were doing so well," Debray groaned. "We almost had him convinced that you're not a raving drunk."
"Shut it, Debray."
"I-it's fine," Jehan stammered. "We have drunks in the bourgeoisie too."
Debray laughed merrily. "I'm starting to think you're good company, M. Poet. You must recite some of your verse for us."
"O-oh no, Monsieur, it's really nothing worth reading aloud," Jehan protested.
"Well I want to hear it!" cried Grantaire, who had uncorked a wine bottle and was drinking straight out of it.
"I don't know any of it by heart."
"Ha! A poet doesn't know his own verse. You have to tell better lies than that here."
"Oh, God, you're not really serious, are you?" Jehan eyed the men wearily.
"I appreciate your modesty," Debray said, "but we live for something to offer us a break from work."
"Just one little couplet?" Grantaire asked with a loopy smile.
"I hope you don't let him paint like that," Jehan commented.
"He calls it 'divine inspiration', and I can't argue with good results."
Grantaire, mumbled some curse words, but he was mostly ignored, and Jehan's poetry was all but forgotten. Over the course of the next half hour, the poet discovered a fondness for both men. They swapped stories and talked about the differences in their lives. This led to a topic that even caused Grantaire to set his wine bottle down.
"Have you seen the poverty in the streets, Prouvaire?" asked Debray.
"I have," Jehan admitted. "It's so much worse here than in the Midi."
"Not everyone around here is an artist," Grantaire said.
"They look so…hungry," Jehan mused. "Their souls were dead behind their eyes. It makes me wish that there was a way that I could help."
"We have a friend," Grantaire began, "who leads meetings in the Café Musain every Tuesday night. If you want—." He was cut off by Luca re-entering.
"Bonjour!" she called from the entrance hall. "I hope my new friend hasn't bored you too much."
"Quite the opposite," Debray returned. "It was absolutely delightful to meet you, Prouvaire, and I hope we'll see you again."
Taking his hand to shake it, Grantaire pulled Jehan closer to him. "Ask Alexandre if you're interested in the meetings," he whispered gruffly. "We need every man we can get."
"What secrets do you have now?" Luca asked. "Well, whatever. Come on, pretty boy, we've got to go. I've got practically a whole city to show you."
Luca led him out, and the whole while, Jehan was peering into the faces of the people around him and thinking about these friends at the Café Musain. Was this his chance to make a change?