A sketch of the Cornith, a tall, dilapidated building which leaned to one side, giving it the appearance of a haphazard structure from a fairytale.

Night cast over the Corinth wine shop, and the main part of the revolutionaries' meeting had finished, and Enjolras' lieutenants lingered and chatted. Feuilly leaned over his table in the corner and sketched directly onto it. From where Marius sat, he looked half-asleep, partly on top of the table, his face inches from the wood, his free hand almost in his wine glass. His pencil moved like he were drawing in tar. Marius decided he should make another effort with the fan maker, and wandered over to where he sat alone.

As Marius' shadow fell over him, Feuilly looked up and gave him a tiny smile. Dark circles hung below his dull brown eyes. Marius returned the smile, feeling awkward. He never really knew how to act around Feuilly, the only working-class member of the group. How did the others manage it? "Hey, Feuilly. I – um, what are you drawing?" He edged closer to the seated man, reached out to lean on the table, and knocked Feuilly's arm, which skidded out of the line he had been sketching. "Oh, sorry."

Feuilly shook his head. "It's fine. It's no great work of art, anyway."

Surprised and pleased that Feuilly was allowing him to see his drawings for once, Marius leaned closer to examine the marks on the table. Flowers bloomed where old wood rotted before. Vines curled around the edges, and butterflies floated among them. A deer's head reared from a tangle of roses and leaves, birds resting on its antlers.

"Feuilly, that is amazing!" Marius cried. Without thinking, he added, "Have you ever considered painting murals for cathedrals?"

Feuilly's tight-lipped, frozen smile told Marius he had said something wrong. He glanced around the room. Everyone else was engaged. He turned back, blushing and awkward. "I-"

"It's complicated," Feuilly interjected, his voice cold. "I can't expect you to understand."

Marius blinked, his face went redder. He shuffled his feet. "I'm – sorry, Feuilly. I don't suppose I do – understand."

"It's all right. I'm used to it." Feuilly stood, gathered his things, and brushed past Marius as he headed for the stairs.

Marius gazed after him, distraught. But what could he say? Talking to Feuilly was always awkward. One could not speak of normal things with him. He sighed, and made to join Jean Prouvaire and Bahorel at their table, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Courfeyrac, his best friend, smiling gently. "I heard what happened," Courfeyrac whispered.

Marius reddened again. "I'm a fool. I didn't even think."

Courfeyrac shook his head. "No, Marius. You truly don't understand, and it's not foolish. Feuilly lost his job today and hasn't been himself all evening. Try not to be so hard on him." He paused. "Or yourself."

Marius winced and hung his head. "I might have been more sensitive, though. I keep thinking I can talk to him like I talk to you."

Courfeyrac chuckled. "He forgives you, Marius. Feuilly is one of the noblest souls I know of. He understands it is difficult for you, difficult for all of us. He usually takes it in stride. Today just was not the best day."

Marius looked up, startled. "It's hard for you, too? You all talk to him with such ease."

Courfeyrac shrugged. "For Bahorel it is easy. Joly and Combeferre, too. They have a knack. The rest of us struggle. But we've known him for longer than you have, Marius. Please, give yourself some grace."

"I must make amends, though! What can I do, Courfeyrac? What would he accept?"

"You have it all wrong. That would make it worse. Feuilly is very proud. He rarely accepts anything. You must let it go. He knows you didn't say it out malice."

Marius stared at the floor, agitated. "But what will he do? Without a job? We can't just stand by while one of our friends suffers."

Courfeyrac grasped Marius shoulders and squared him in the eyes. "Marius. I know you want to help. We all do. But we know Feuilly too well. If he wants our help, he will let us know. Believe me, it will only makes matters worse if we try intervening. This is one of those times when we have to let him find his own way. Do you trust me?"

Marius sighed in resignation. "He was right; it is complicated."