Author's Note: And thus we end book one. Please do leave some feedback, especially if you want to facilitate the quick posting of the next one. Thanks for reading and I'll see you next time :)

4th January, 1831

Revolutions to be planned – 1!

As I had expected, Jehan started fretting when I asked him for permission to use the poem. Complained that it wasn't good at all and he had just scribbled it quickly on a whim to cheer me up.

"I do not pretend to be an expert on poetry and I cannot imagine what faults you find with it but that is not the point," I argued. "I am not submitting it for a contest. It will be good enough for them, if anything has that chance at all. I am ready to admit, my friend, that when facts and reason fail to engage a man's mind, art might manage to engage his soul. This is a difficult admission for someone who has no skills in any sort of art but that's why I have you."

At this, he finally relented with much blushing.

I delivered the message to each of their homes personally last night but I was careful not to be seen. I didn't want an answer too early – it might have made it harder to go to the Musain tonight. Each message was the same, save for the one I left for Jehan, which only read: 'Thank you. I hope to see you tomorrow.' The rest he already knew.

I went to Fabrice's first, both because it was the farthest and because it gave me confidence. He had already assured me he would be there whenever I decided to call the next meeting. Not that he hadn't given me a bit of a scare before promising that.

Yes, the other day, when I told him about my talk with Combeferre, Feuilly started replying with 'I've had some extra time to think myself lately' and I felt my hairs stand on end. Fortunately, it had not been a prelude to another resignation.

"I have had some extra time to think myself lately," he said, "and I've realized there is some selfishness in my motives for wanting to keep our group going as much as I do. I truly want the freedom of the people with my whole heart but that is not all that drew me to you from the start. I wanted your society – the intelligence and erudition of the circle the chance to contemplate things different from daily bread. I admit now, with the risk of displeasing both you and myself, that it is an escape of a certain kind. I don't think I could stop coming, even if I thought it possible for myself to doubt the revolution." He smiled a little ruefully. "Combeferre, of course, does not have the complexes of a poor orphan so his motives for one or the other are much purer. That has to be applauded."

That little speech left me in a confused state, not knowing how to comment. On one hand, I felt that I should indeed insist that our convictions alone should motivate our participation in this circle. However, it would have been unnecessary preaching to point such things out to Fabrice. I have no doubt at all in his loyalty to the Cause. That he draws some additional pleasure from our company can only flatter me. I could no more blame him for it than I could blame Jehan for seeing us as a family and drawing a degree of comfort from our friendship. Other motives don't matter as long as they both believe.

At the same time, despite my better judgment, I found myself wishing that a similar reason would have been enough to keep Justinien around, even if his faith had faltered. He had pointed out that a man who was not convinced in the necessity of a revolution would be of no use to a bunch of revolutionaries and, yes, that made perfect sense but… Well, it wasn't true in this case. I would have felt better if he was there, even if he were to disagree with me.

Yesterday when I went from place to place, I wanted him back so badly that I debated leaving a message for him as well, hoping selfishly that his gentle heart would not bear to disappoint me when I was directly asking him to come. In the end I finally managed to convince myself that such manipulation was beneath me.

After Feuilly I visited Jehan's and after that – Joly's apartment where I was certain the summons would also reach Bossuet. After that it was Bahorel who was by this point back in Paris. I planned to go to Antoine's last so I would end my tour on an optimistic note.

Three who had promised to come. Three uncertain. One not coming.

I passed the Musain and hesitated. Grantaire?

A message was not really necessary in his case. I sometimes leave one but more often not, according to how recently he has managed to make me angry. He hangs around in the Musain too often to miss us and Courfeyrac normally tells him anyway.

I pondered the matter for few more moments before starting to walk again, deciding that just standing there and mulling it over was a waste of time.

When I had distributed all the messages that needed to be distributed, I went home feeling a little edgy. For a period of time things were hanging in the air, undecided, and I couldn't wait for that period to be over. Even if at its end awaited the depressing prospect of losing supporters and maybe drifting away from friends. Because where would I find the time to nurse a friendship that wasn't connected to the revolution in some way?

I went to the Musain early. To have time to look at my notes, I tried to convince myself. Excuses. It was simple impatience. The backroom was empty, not even a drunk to be seen in the corner. Although I really was thankful for that. I could not have born to wait with Grantaire there. As soon as I arrived I thought I shouldn't have gone early. I should have been late if anything. If I was late I could just walk into the room in a hurry, glance around to see how many people were present and hide my reaction by beginning my presentation right away, to whoever was there. By coming before the arranged time, I had forced myself to go through the torture of watching as people came or didn't come through the door. The others must have thought of that because not a single other person was early. Courfeyrac and Prouvaire came on time, both giving me forced optimistic smiles in defiance of the empty room. Feuilly was a five minutes late, this being his first day back to work.

"Nicely done," the worker said with a meaningful smile in Prouvaire's direction.

Jehan, quickly figuring out the praise was meant for his poem which had comprised most of my message to my troops, blushed and quickly proceeded to inquire after his health.

Then, to my relief, Bahorel showed up as well, instigating first a polite inquiry and then a lively argument with Courfeyrac about the well-being of his four sisters whom Courfeyrac had apparently met once before when they had visited their brother and now insisted country air was not good for them and they should move to the city. And so the four of them talked and pointedly did not look at the clock on the wall which showed that we were quite late to start while I sat and wondered when I should put a stop to this small spectacle. Before I could decide to do that though, the door opened again and Grantaire walked in, holding a piece of paper at eye-level and reciting in loud voice.

"I know you'll follow to the end/ but will you follow after?/ The river slows around the bend/ and greatness turns to laughter./ Will you have hope and dreams enough/ for everyone to borrow/ for when Tomorrow has arrived/ to dream about Tomorrow?"

Joly and L'Aigle tiptoed into the room after him, giving me apologetic looks and quickly choosing places to sit down.

"Hearts grow accustomed to the cold/ and minds are quick to tire/ but we can prove its warmth is worth/ rekindling the fire," finished Grantaire, and clapped his hands in an overblown manner. "Bravo, little Jehan! I could almost believe I was really invited to the gathering of a literary society."

I glanced sideways to find the poet, predictably, turning an alarmingly red colour, especially when Grantaire's words prompted the others to start congratulating him as well and assuring him this had been the most inspiring summons to a meeting they had ever received. And only now did I allow myself to breathe a sigh a relief. They were all here, save for the one I knew would not come.

"We're sorry we're late," Joly apologized when the chatter had died down. "But we were dining at the Corinth and Bossuet choked on an oyster…"

"And when Grantaire clapped me on the back, I leaned forward and my chair slipped backwards and I hit my head on the edge of the table and Marcel insisted on making sure I didn't have a concussion," Bossuet finished and laughed as if receiving a bump on his head was the most entertaining thing that could have happened to him.

"Ah, but I was concerned myself!" Grantaire exclaimed with an artificial air of distress. "A concussion may have disrupted your bad luck and then where would the rest of us be? M. Lesgle has but one great talent and that is misfortune! It can be used! I suggest we dress him in a uniform and put him in charge of the National Guard! Then we may indeed have a chance of taking Paris."

Bossuet laughed, some of the others chuckled and I resisted the urge to groan.

"Grantaire, you have three seconds to shut up and sit down."

"As you wish, my lord and master."

While I seethed at being called 'lord and master', he gave a mocking little bow and took his usual place. You are infuriating, I thought. Infuriating. But you are here and he isn't. And where does that put you both?

Combeferre has so much to offer – ideas and guidance and effort. Yet I would have gladly surrendered those things in exchange for his simple presence, rather than losing that too just because he didn't deem it enough to matter. And all Grantaire ever offers to anyone is his presence and that really isn't much and I don't believe I will ever stop wanting more from him...

I realized that everyone had quieted down and turned their faces towards me. There was a pause. I looked at them and, for the moment, rather than regretting the seat that was empty, I was glad for those that were full.

"Thank you for being here. All of you. And now about our failing economy…"

End of Book 1

End Note: Once again, thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope to see you all in the next installment.

I know you'll follow to the end

But will you follow after?

The river slows around the bend

And greatness turns to laughter.

Will you have hope and dreams enough

For everyone to borrow

For when Tomorrow has arrived

To dream about Tomorrow?

Hearts grow accustomed to the cold

And minds are quick to tire

But we can prove its warmth is worth

Rekindling the fire.