A portrait of Enjolras. His eyes burn with passion, but the rest of him looks too young to be the leader of a revolutionary group. A soft jawline, small but set lips, long tendrils of light hair escaping his tie and falling over his pallid forehead. His steady, intense gaze stares up from the paper, daring the viewer to stand against him.

An eighteen-year-old boy stood in the doorway of the stone-block university as his fellow students streamed out, free for a few hours. He watched them go, his blue gaze sized them up, his arm thrust out, his hand clutched a pamphlet, passed it to a student, took another one from the thick stack he held in his other hand, and repeated the process.

"Enjolras! What are you doing?" Monsieur Picard, a professor at the university, approached the boy, his face red and tight. The students shied around the black-suited man, giving him and his victim a wide berth. The boy stood his ground, head held high. "What have we here?" Monsieur Picard snatched the pamphlet from his hand and examined it. "Enjolras, don't you realize this is blatant treason you have printed here?" he hissed after a moment. "You could get imprisoned for this rubbish. Or worse."

"I have printed the truth, nothing more," said the boy, Enjolras, his voice low and calm.

Monsieur Picard glared. "I doubt His Majesty would agree." He straightened, and wadded the pamphlet into his coat pocket. "Besides, all printed articles must be approved by the university before distribution. Hand me the rest, Enjolras, and you will be pardoned, this time."

Enjolras hesitated, then relinquished the stack to Monsieur Picard.

"Excellent." The professor patted the top of the stack, then turned and marched into the stone-block building.

"Why did you let him take them?" A chestnut-haired student close to Enjolras' age sidled up to him, a pamphlet in his left hand.

"I didn't think it was the time to fight back."

The boy arched an eyebrow, a teasing smile on his lips. "Meaning you will fight back later?"

Enjolras dared a small smile. "Yes."

The boy laughed and held out his hand. "Courfeyrac. André Courfeyrac."

Enjolras shook his hand. "Louis-Philippe Enjolras. Are you related to the de Courfeyracs?"

Courfeyrac shook his head, his chestnut curls swishing across his forehead. "I am, but 'de' is so old-fashioned."

Enjolras brightened. "Then we think alike."

"Indeed."

Enjolras motioned to the pamphlet. "What do you think?"

"Incredible. A revolution. I never thought of it. I usually ignore the poor, mostly because I do not know what do to for them. Certainly, I give them money, but it always feels so useless, and the situation doesn't improve." He cocked his head. "Have you considered forming a society?"

Enjolras frowned. "A society?"

"Certainly. A society for like-minded people. People who think the only way to change is through revolution."

"Which is not so."

Startled, Enjolras and Courfeyrac turned and saw another student, a little older than both of them, approaching. He rivalled Enjolras' accosting gaze: soft blue eyes which spoke infinite depths when focused on a subject.

"What do you mean?" asked Enjolras, unsure if he liked the newcomer or not.

"Certainly revolution can bring about change. But it is too sudden, and can have disastrous results. Do not tell me the Revolution of 1789 was bloodless, or successful. A more lasting, peaceful route is through education and the slow changing of people's minds."

Anger boiled inside Enjolras. "Do you think the people have time for that? While you wait, men and women die and children starve. A little sacrifice must be made for the good of all."

"'A little sacrifice'? How little? As little as the revolutions we've had in the past, none of which, I hasten to remind you, have had any lasting effect?"

"What is your name?" Enjolras did not have a ready answer for these questions, but he intended to find them out later.

"Etienne Combeferre. You are Enjolras, are you not?"

Some of Enjolras' anger dissolved. "How did you know?"

"You were detained last year."

Enjolras reddened. But Combeferre smiled gently. "For handing in a paper with a 'distinct treasonous flavor,' am I right?"

"You have guessed it."

Turning to Courfeyrac, Combeferre said, "I heard you mention forming a society."

"What is it to you?" Enjolras growled before Courfeyrac could answer. "You are not 'like-minded.'"

"Not entirely, but I think we can agree that a change must be made. We simply differ as to its execution. I am not opposed to revolution, if it must be so, if that is any comfort to you."

Surprised, Enjolras replied, "I suppose. Do you think you could recruit anyone for us?"

Combeferre smiled a very small smile. "Is that the condition on which I may join you?"

"No. You may join."

"Then I have several in mind who might sympathize with you." The smile broadened. "With us."

Courfeyrac interjected with a laugh, "Then let us make history, gentlemen."