Courfeyrac flopped onto Enjolras' bed in utter dejection, burying his face in his arms. "I'm so sorry."

Behind him, Combeferre stalked into the room, every step bristling in tightly controlled indignation. "I could perhaps forgive him easier, if he'd still been brand new to our aims. But I suppose it's best that he show his true colors now."

"God, Combeferre! It's not like he's a royalist!"

"No, a Bonapartist! That's w-"

"Don't exaggerate so. A Bonapartist is in no way worse than being a Bourbon adherent." The defense was half-hearted. Marius' tirade today stung, Courfeyrac had been so sure that he'd join them. And Courfeyrac did take pride in his eye for new recruits. His instinct rarely misfired, he knew people intuitively, and to have such a disappointment come from a friend was a bad shock. "I was so sure that he was progressing on track."

Combeferre sighed, "You know, when you told us his idea of a political allegiance, I had hoped that the 'Bonapartist' aspect referred to the man's military ability, to give credit where credit is due. I was not expecting . . . that. Such idolization of Bonaparte's programs and conquests has no place in our work."

"He's young," Courfeyrac murmured weakly, unwilling to give up just yet on his friend. "He's impressionable and unthinking. At least he's enamored of personality and deeds, rather than title and bloodlines. That's something. I still say that he can learn." He threw an aggrieved look at his friend. "That is, if you haven't chased him off entirely. He made an ass of himself, but was your full repartee really necessary?"

Combeferre huffed, about to respond, but the third presence in the room cut him off. Enjolras, silent since leaving the Musain, now took a seat next to Courfeyrac. "The problem isn't that Pontmercy's ideals are badly flawed. Or rather, it isn't just that. He's reckless. It's not that he declaims in a room full of opposing minds, I've done that before, it's that he doesn't even realize his audience is against him. He speaks with passion, but with no depth or discernment. If we do convince him, he may still be more of a danger than an aid."

Courfeyrac winced at the denouncement. "So you think to let him go?"

Enjolras held up a hand. "No. I think he bears watching. I think he's in an even worse position than Grantaire. But he can learn. He's bright and passionate, and if he lets himself be open to guidance, he may yet be great."

"What did you say to him after we left, Enjolras?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras' shoulders rolled in a slow shrug. "The truth." And both Courfeyrac and Combeferre knew they would get no more from him. Courfeyrac shifted closer to the blond, leaning into a warm shoulder. Enjolras' arm automatically wrapped around him, giving a comforting squeeze.

"It's not your fault Courfeyrac, and you have nothing for which to apologize. I think your initial assessment about not going to the police is correct, and maybe Pontmercy will join us in full one day." One corner of his mouth twitched up in a slight smile. "And I cannot say that you failed to warn us about his Bonapartist proclivities."

Enjolras stretched his free arm toward Combeferre, beckoning their third to join them. As Combeferre settled on the bed, Courfeyrac closed his eyes and relaxed into Enjolras' embrace. He wouldn't give up on Marius, but even if the boy never returned, he still had enough love, friendship, and purpose to last several lifetimes, right here.