A/N: Thanks to norwegianalien, who so faithfully reread and reviewed.

Also - sometimes I'm confused at my own writing process. You remember me moaning two chapters ago that actually I would have thought the conversation about the Montparnasse dilemma originally should have been with Courfeyrac, not Combeferre, but scheduling made me reconsider? Well. Full disclosure: I didn't really know how to extract Eponine out of that one. Make no mistake, I had a few rough ideas (which will be thrown around as ideas by our characters in this chapter...), that would one or the other way do the trick, but none of them were ideal. That's actually how I write. I get people into trouble and see what happens. Usually something does. I had intended to let the conversation run its course, and then usually, I end up somewhere that works out. I know. Weird. Anyhow, this time, as I was mulling things over, I all of a sudden had the perfect idea of how to move forward with this plot, so good actually that it answered a lot of other unanswered questions I had in the course of the, say, next day of this fic. And here's the thing: Combeferre is probably the only one who could have come up with that idea. Courfeyrac clearly wouldnt, because it is not his way of thinking.

Sometimes I wonder if this fic is already written somewhere, and I just pry it out, bit by bit. ;)

Anyhow, without further ado - giving the stuff a few spins and getting into action.

Lights... camera... action!

Chapter 78: Treading paths quite unfamiliar

Sometimes the universe requires a change of perspective

„I'm wondering", Combeferre said, at length, taking a deep breath from the pipe he was smoking, the rich, musky smell wavering through the room, dancing in shadows through the evening sun, „if we are approaching this the right way."

For the past hour or so, they had exchanged ideas and possibilities, turned their respective conundrums, but especially Eponine's, this way and that, examining it from all sides to see in which manner it might best be approached.

Pushed for a decision, Eponine thought, Combeferre beat Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Marius as a sparring partner for ideas by a long run, and that was an unexpected revelation. True, organizing things and sorting chaos with Courfeyrac was almost fun, discussing with Enjolras never failed to provide her new insights, and Marius had been her friend for so long that she was almost used to listen to his words to counter her own thoughts. The safe ones, at least.

Combeferre, however, began every plan, every debate with a question. Unlike many of his comrades, he did not start out with a conviction or clear plan, but started with the situation at hand, turning it this way and that, trying to understand it first before forming an opinion. He had a surprisingly open mind, accepted the caveats and boundary conditions she gave in areas outside of his expertise as soon as he had truly understood them, and brought his own knowledge into the discussion without reservation.

He discarded nothing right away, investigated even the morally doubtful alternatives in earnest, factoring morals into the advantages and disadvantages of each course of action, but giving the benefit of the doubt on the gain that could be achieved by a less savory approach.

This treatment was applied to any of the alternatives they discussed for extracting Eponine out of the situation she had maneuvered herself in with Montparnasse. They discarded convincing the thief of the error of his ways as a first step of their discussion, and Eponine was surprised that Combeferre had even seriously considered it. But after a long description of his character and the way he had acted towards Eponine, finally, he had given in, nodded, and agreed that, if such a feat were to be brought about, it certainly needed more time than they had on their hands right now.

They then moved to several other alternatives of taking him out of the game – money, captivity, trickery – each of them wiht their own sets of problems and pitfalls. Eponine stared at him in surprise when he suggested they might somehow smuggle him onto a ship moving out of Paris, in the hopes that he would need some time to extract himself out of that particular situation and come back to the city – but although the idea had a certain charm and Eponine was tempted to go for it if only to see how he would deal with that particular matter in front of Enjolras – they both admitted after careful thought that the success and proceedings of this were too uncertain.

They contemplated direct confrontation, but Eponine shied away from having a hand in killing Montparnasse – he had not even threatened her with that, and she was pretty sure that this was the one thing that even his new masters would have trouble getting from him. Betraying him to the conges seemed to be wholly unpredictable – it seemed he had been let out of La Force before, and she wasn't sure if he wouldn't be able to do it again. The police force seemed an uncertain factor in the course of events, to say the least.

A number of options were still on the table – trapping and imprisoning him at a place of their choosing; trying to rally up old enemies against him; faking instructions from his new masters to put him off her trail for a while, or, last but not least, pooling together enough money between the revolutionaries to pay off Eponine's debt in another way – none of them discarded yet, but none of them attractive enough to be immediately appealing.

They had both taken a moment to mull them over, and Combeferre had lit himself a pipe, drawing on it thoughtfully and blowing small huffs of smoke into the room, watching them with contemplation. Eponine's matter of occupying hands and body while she thought had been a sausage and piece of bread from Enjolras' stock – he was not there to ask if he agreed to her serving herself, but she was relatively confident that the invitation into his apartment for rest included at least some food. She was still on her way back to the table, munching the first bites, when Combeferre broke the silence with his words and she stopped in her tracks.

„How so?", she asked, curiously, and Combeferre squinted his eyes, following the path of the smoke of his pipe through the reddening evening light.

„We are still approaching this in the manner that an abbaisse would", he explained thoughtfully, taking another deep breath from his pipe. „Using the rules of the streets, trying to play his own game against him. Trickery against trickery. Favor against favor."

Eponine shrugged.

„It's what I got", she said, a little defensively, and he turned towards her to raise a brow in question.

„Is it?" He turned the pipe in his hands for inspection, again more a way to occupy his hands than a motion with real purpose. „How about we approach this matter like a revolutionary?"

Eponine approached the table again, taking her old seat before she asked.

„What do you mean by that?"

„Listen", he placed his pipe on a stand, apparently now having more important things on his mind, more important things to do with his hands, as his body language became more active, more agitated than it had been since the whole discussion started. She could almost see in his face, in the movement of his hands as he explained, that he, at least for himself, had come to a conclusion, and that he liked it. „At the moment we are trying to find ways within the game that he has imposed on you. He is calling favors you owe him. Probably he has a problem of his own – remember, chances are he is no less conflicted than you are between your old loyalties and what his new friends ask of him. Delivering them Enjolras would solve his problem, I think. He would bring the man that is holding this whole story together, now that we lost the Virilles, Picpus is in shambles and de Morier is out of the game. And that might kill the revolution that we are spiraling towards at its root. So. Whoever he has associated himself with would be satisfied, the threat would probably diminish – he's in a better position to weasel his way between the different loyalties, and as a bonus he would have been the one delivering Enjolras. Which certainly would account for something with his new friends."

He shifted in his chair.

„But, listen. All the options we are discussing are focusing on him. Imprisonment, bribery, all these things. The goal is to avoid delivering him what he wants, and at the same time to keep him from doing what he threatened you with – ruin your reputation, separate yourself from your connections on the street that have still proven so helpful to you. But here's the thing."

He actually lifted a finger to make his point.

„Let's assume for a moment we let that happen. Let's assume we do nothing at all towards him. Let him go to this meeting place and wait for you, and in vain. What would happen?"

„He'd go around squealing on me to everybody and their dog", Eponine said gruffly, not sure about where Combeferre was going with this. „Trying to make me untrustworthy on the streets."

Combeferre nodded. „Yes. But what makes you say he will be successful?"

„Experience?" she snapped, not sure where the anger came from.

„Experience because you saw it and you saw the game. Again. Revolutionary. Not gamine. What would a revolutionary do?"

Eponine frowned and started contemplating his question in earnest. And then she realized where he was going, and it was glorious, terrifying, and, all in all, impossible.

„They would try to turn the others to their side of things."

Combeferre smiled and leaned back, taking his pipe again and drawing deeply from it, apparently satisfied with himself and her.

„Just so. We have a day. Even a little more, probably. And I am quite sure that you have a hunch where he would go to first to disrepute you. So – beat him to it."

„And squeal on him first?" Eponine asked.

„It is not necessarily a bad idea to expose his association, but again, I think we are focusing too much on him, and too little on the people you want to talk to. Because you are not just a gamine any more. Don't try to pretend you haven't seen and learned much these past days with us. Don't try to pretend you did not like what you heard. So. What makes you think you are the only one who has still hopes for the future?"

She shook her head slowly.

„That's because... ah because of so many things. Because of Marius, and Enjolras, and these whole, mad days."

„Is that really true?" he intercepted. „Or did you just not have any time to talk yourself out of it? You would not hesitate so much if the thought of our endeavor succeeding did not hold some kind of beauty to you. You know that things are wrong and need changing. And yo know it would help many of your associates. Think about it. Fairer wages. Access to education, so that everyone can find a place suited best to their abilities. Your place being defined by what you can do, what you are willing to do, instead of whose child you are. Free speech. Elections. Honest competition of ideas instead of a king running the show. The same vote and merit for anyone. No more financial limits to entering public office. Money shouldn't breed money, but work should. Checks and balances, like they do in the Americas. Do you really not think this would appeal to some of your friends?"

She considered it honestly for a moment and found that there was some truth in what he said. Some of the people she knew – her father, for example – had gotten used to their life to such an extent that she doubted them capable of such a fundamental change of mind. Others, on the other hand, might be a different story.

As little as she liked it, the thought was appealing, and she could see why it was appealing to him. He was, after all, a revolutionary, his prerogative was to convince people to join his side. His cause. Which, she realized with a flash, was part of the problem. Because conveniently, this idea, which sounded alluring, was also what was best for him.

„So in the essence you try to solve my problem by making me work for you." Eponine had a keen sense of when she was exploited. Combeferre raised a brow.

„Do you really think that?" he asked. Her first reflex was to confirm. But, even in that first second, she already realized that this was not fair. Because they had taken her in. And they were convinced of what they were doing. It was not so much that he proposed what conveniently suited them. It was that he proposed it, because this was how he acted, and this was what he truly thought best.

That it also sounded appealing to her could mean two things. Either she had spent way too much time in their company and her head had been turned in the process. Or it was really a good idea.

Or both.

But in all honesty, the thought of her talking of politics and change to her former associates was a terrifying one. This was so far out of her usual behavior that she would not even know how to approach it. The mere thought made her want to flee.

„I'm no Enjolras", she reminded Combeferre, because this was the best retort she could give to make him understand what worried her about this plan of his.

„And that is more of an advantage than a disadvantage, if you want to hear my honest opinion", he answered. „You have said – and rightfully so – that we are not the people they identify with. Today, we are far from where they are. We are bourgeois and noble, however much we may abhor this background. It is still there. We talk like we have been taught. We move like we have been taught. And for all the sympathy we have for you and yours, for all that we truly want to make things better, for you not the least, that is something that will not simply go away. You however..."

„Yeah. I get it." Eponine said darkly. Because she truly got it, and because she hated the fact that it was a good idea. One that was not worth fighting against. However much her impulses wanted her to.

„And that", Combeferre continued, „would be a much stronger medicine against Montparnasse's words than any of our other plans could devise. Because this works no matter what he does. And – even more importantly – it focuses on making friends. Not enemies."

Eponine chewed on her thumb thoughtfully. A part of her was still looking for excuses, but she could also already feel her thoughts organizing her associates in the order of potential successes. Cortez, definitely, topped the list. Old Vera might be willing to listen, and some of the residents of the officers club would also maybe willing to lend an ear. And from then on... she would see.

She already knew she would do it before she agreed.

„Lets try that", she admitted unhappily. „It's still the best plan I heard today, I'll give you that."

„Lets give it until tomorrow around four", Combeferre suggested. „If until then we already know it's not working, we still have the option of raiding that meeting place of yours. I'd like to avoid it if we can, but if we can't thats what we still can do."

He was too damned clever for his own good, she thought. But she also realized, and not without marvelling at the thought, that she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. The terror that had gripped her mind since Montparnasse had attacked her in the garden hat miraculously lifted, leaving in its stead thought tumbling one over the other, as she planned how to best set Combeferre's idea into action. And that, she thought reluctantly, couldn't be bad, could it?

Dusk had already started to settle, throwing shadows into the room long and deep enough to interrupt his hostesses work, when Marius and Cosette came out of Adelaide's room and rejoined them at the table. Louise had returned successfully from her errand with Navette and Elodie had started to warm up a pot of stew that was hanging over the fireplace. Courfeyrac, knowing what it meant for the girls to play host to a revolutionary these days had made sure there was at least enough to ensure high quality food, and yesterday's leftovers were still enough to feed everyone this day.

Feuilly exchanged greetings and a smile with Marius as they came out. The baron's son seemed more relaxed than he had been coming in, and certainly more than the days before, and Cosette, a beauty almost rivalling that of Katya, gifted them with a radiant, if slightly uncertain smile as she sat down at the table with them, next to Marius, trying to gauge the situation in the room.

Throughout the last hours he had started to feel better himself. Some of the dizziness still remained if he moved his head too quickly, but he had been up and about – or at least sitting – for some hours now without his condition worsening or the nausea increasing, and so he figured that Combeferre, well versed in medical matters, was correct and the worst of the concussion was probably over. Which was a relief in itself.

„It is nice to meet the face behind the name we have heard so often", he offered towards Cosette with a smile. It was true that he had had a quick glimpse of her at the beginning of the craziness of the last days when they had gone to retrieve Marius from Rue Plumet, but in all honesty, this was the first time he truly met her. Cosette gave him another of her smiles.

„Thank you for the kindness, Monsieur Feuilly", she answered, all politeness of a well-bred lady. „Although I would wish the circumstances to be different. But it is surely good to meet a friendly face."

Before she had left, Adelaide had given him a rough understanding of what had brought Cosette into their midst – her search for Marius, the events at the cemetery and the strange way in which her father had departed and left her to her own devices.

All things considered, she was bearing it well, Feuilly thought.

„I am only a guest here myself", he deflected elegantly to Louise and Elodie, feeling slightly uncomfortable at how they were imposing on their privacy, having conversations amongst themselves without including them.

„And well we were paid for it." It was clear both from the twinkle in her eye and the tone in her voice, that Elodie was jesting as she dropped two bowls of soup in front of both Cosette and Marius without ceremony. „Eat up", she advised. „You look as if you need it."

With which, Feuilly thought, she was probably right. Both looked for the moment content, but still exhausted, even if one did not factor in that the day's events showed clearly on their clothings, dirt stains and sweat marks takling of too muhc running, walking and hustling on a hot day.

Elodie turned back to the stand and continued to distribute supper between the present. „It's actually pretty good. Your friend spared no expenses." She turned with two more bowls, giving a charming smile to those assembled. „Consider it our contribution to the overall effort."

Not the last effort, Feuilly thought, and probably she was right. While the girls in the Chanvrerie were more involved with Jeanne than Enjolras, they were revolutionaries of their own kind, and clearly not only spectators in the events that were unfolding. It was clearer with Adelaide, who was serious and driven, but Feuilly knew them well enough not to be fooled by the lighthearted manner of the other two girls.

They started eating as darkness fell in earnest, only two candles on the table giving off a flickering light, bright enough to recognize faces and expressions, but too dim for the girls to work. The conversation flowed easily and lightly. For now, they stayed away from any sensitive topics, trading light banter and laughter, unspokenly agreeing that for a moment in time they could rather use the respite from the life outside their door.

Said life, however, brought itself back to mind with a soft knock on the door.

They exchanged looks, briefly confirming that none of them expected a visitor, but when finally Marius got up to open the door, Feuilly felt infinitely relieved to see another set of golden curls, another young lady in fine dress entering the room.

Seeing her was always, always a pleasure, and he felt a smile springing to his lips as it infallibly would every time he saw her.

„Katyuschka."

Kataczyina entered the room and, after a brief nod towards the girls and a slightly more surprised and confused greeting towards Marius and Cosette, moved towards, greeting him with a slight breath of a kiss.

„Should you be up?" she asked with some concern, but he could hear in her voice that she was relieved to see him relatively well and did not feel the need to defend himself.

„I'm much better", he insisted. „I'll still be a while before I'm my usual unshakeable self, but I think the worst is over."

Kataczina watched him over for a moment, assessing whether his statement was to be believed, but ultimately she nodded and leaned against the counter, since there were no more chairs available to host another visitor. She shook her head as Elodie offered her hers and looked into the round of people, obviously assessing the crowd.

Once the immediate pleasure of seeing her unexpectedly had subsided, Feuilly realized that she was quite obviously not only here to pay him a visit. She was preoccupied, perhaps a trifle nervous, and her usual lightheartedness seemed to be somewhat subdued.

„Something... unexpected has happened today", she began cautiously, looking around. „I...", she hesitated, looking around again, her gaze staying on Cosette for a moment longer, before apparently she came to a decision and shrugged. „Well. We are all friends here, I assume", she said, „so I guess I can be sure we will be careful with that information."

Feuilly frowned. Katya was many things, but easily shaken she was not. Whatever she meant must carry some importance, and he raised himself cautiously to his feet. The expected dizziness did not come, and even though she frowned at him he stepped to her side cautiously, not touching, but providing an outwart sign of support none the less.

„You can be sure of that", he answered, feeling certain to be able to speak for Cosette as well. „What is the matter?"

A ghost of a smile ran over her features, and she took his hand briefly and squeezed it in thanks.

„A few years ago...", she shook her head and started differently. „Actually, come to think of it, I'm not sure I ever told you that particular story", she admitted. „I don't even really know why."

Feuilly felt his heart sink. Katya did not believe in secrets, but it was also not like her to fret. However, he was sure to know her, and hence nodded in encouragement.

„So tell me now, Katyuschka", he offered, and again she smiled, seemingly a little calmed.

„A few years ago, I was at a salon with my mother, the Tourebret salon. It has come out of fashion since then, and Madame de Tourebret is quite elderly now, so this particular one hasn't occured in a while, so...", she interrupted herself, smiling self-deprecatingly at her rambling. „And of course none of this is really relevant for what I need to tell you. Anyhow. At that salon I somehow got to talk with an elderly man, good conversationalist, witty and interesting and terribly well-read. I remember that we talked almost throughout the whole assembly, and I remember enjoying it because I learned so much. I'm not quite sure what he found interesting about me, but he was polite and unassuming, and seemed to indeed take serious the things that I said. He called himself Monsieur de Meriaduc, but that was not his real name." She took a deep breath, and Feuilly frowned, wondering which turn this tale would take. „It was actually Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigod."

„What?" Feuilly and Marius echoed at the same time, and Marius followed up with „the limping devil?"

Katya sighed and nodded.

„I would not call him that to his face, but yes. Him."

Feuilly's thoughts were racing. Of course, he knew the name of Talleyrand. The man who had sworn many oaths and broken just as many. Who had served Louis XVI, and Napoleon, and now Louis-Philippe as well. The wizard of the Vienna Congress who saved France her borders and her independence. He had a colorful reputation indeed.

Although he knew that Katya had moved in different circles than he could even imagine, this came as a surprise. The salon of Madame Krasnicky, where they had met, was her home ground, but as a member of an old polish noble house she had access to many society functions in the city that he would never dream of. It was a sharp reminder of the differences between them, especially since she had not even mentionned such an acquaintance to him.

„He was in that salon – as he put it himself when I asked him – for recreational purposes, and in all honesty, I believe that. I saw him quite often these days, and usually had a good conversation with him, less about politics, more about society and literature, sometimes history. I know the reputation he has, but to me, he has always been decent and, actually, interesting to talk to. He also kept his alias and did not want to be seen as the man the public knows them. He was there for interesting conversation. Just like the rest of us."

She shrugged.

„He moved to London after the Glorieuses, as you probably know, but we kept correspondence. Nothing of importance", she added quickly in the direction of Feuilly, „much an continuation of our conversations in the salon. And certainly I never told him about my association with you, but somehow he knows. I probably should not be surprised, but in all honesty, I was."

Marius whistled softly.

„This is bad", he stated, and Feuilly felt inclined to agree. Talleyrand had been an enthusiast for Louis Phillippe and a strong supporter of his reign. Wherever Katya was going with this, it was disquieting.

„I'm not so sure, to be honest", Katya contradicted, moving on. „I've had a visitor today, one of his men, and he told me in no uncertain terms that Talleyrand is back in Paris. Not officially, that is, but apparently he is here again." She turned to Feuilly. „And he asked if he could speak with you. And maybe Courfeyrac. Tomorrow, at Madame Krasznicky's"

Feuilly felt a dizziness that had nothing to do with his concussion.

„I have the impression I may need to sit down", he admitted, somewhat softly, but, not sure if he would be able to make the crossing to his chair, chose to sag against the cupboard instead. Katya turned to him with a frown, immediately ready to lend him some support, but he waved her hand away gently, instead focussing on processing what he just had heard.

Aside from the immediate terror of the thought of facing a man of the caliber of Monsieur de Talleyrand, a part of him was reeling at the complete story. How on earth did one claim an acquaintance with one of the most notorious men of the french political scene, and not even once mention it to one's friend, who, on top of things, was dabbling in revolutionary matters.

But of course, this was Katya. And in some matter, ludicrous as it sounded, this whole story was so very Katya that he felt an immediate rush of fondness. Because, of course, this was how she saw the world, and this was, how she saw people. This is how she saw him, and why she had never been deterred by their obvious difference in station. In earlier days, this story would have put in sharp relief the differences between them, maybe even cast a doubt on the strength of her attachment towards him in his eyes, but these days Feuilly knew her so much better than this.

And he knew that the same habit of taking people simply as what they presented themselves to her – firmly and completely ignoring all dictates of society, all backgrounds, all rumors – that habit, that had her file off Monsieur de Talleyrand as a very interesting acquaintance, a good conversation partner, but not the politician that he was - was also the habit that had her hold fast to a simple fanmaker simply because she wanted to and because she loved him.

Feuilly felt a soft laughter bubbling up inside him and did not fight it, let it run through him as he shook his head in fondness.

„Katyuschka...", he said, his voice half despair and half showing how deeply, truly he appreciated her. He took her hand in his and bestowed a small kiss on it, a short gesture of fondness and of understanding. „If anyone – anyone – but you would have told me that story, I would not have known whether to be angry or betrayed. Or lied to." He slipped his finger through hers and gave her hand a small squeeze. „But it's you", he answered. „And I understand. Although...", he shook his head again in desperation, „you certainly pick your moments."

Her smile turned slightly rueful as she shrugged, a bit desperately, looking first at him and then around the room where Marius and the three women were sitting, still a bit stunned by the revelation.

„I know it sounds barely believeable", she explained. „But I can promise you I never told him anything about you or what you are doing." She shrugged, and Feuilly felt some sympathy for her. This was one of the rare occasions where the world Katya lived in crossed with the reality the rest of them experienced, and it always made her uneasy. „That wouldn't even have crossed my mind."

„I know", Feuilly affirmed, partly for her, but mostly for the others' benefit. They had not seen her as he did.

Marius took a deep breath and blew it out again, ruffling his hand through his hair, leaving it somewhat messy and standing at odd angles.

„Well", he answered, obviously taking a leap of faith. „That's good to know at least, and probably a man of his caliber has other resources at his disposal. But the more important question is – what do we do about this?"

Feuilly shrugged. „That's the question indeed. I wish we could talk to Enjolras about it, but I am not sure that is such a good idea. We do not know yet whether we are talking to an ally or an enemy."

Marius nodded.

„Probably true", he admitted. „That can go wrong every which way."

„No pressure at all, indeed", Feuilly said with a wry smile. The thought alone of having a conversation with Talleyrand was terrifying. But on the other side he was not sure he could, or should refuse.

„What do you think they should do?" He had not expected Cosette to speak, but she did, looking at Katya frankly and openly. She was sitting close to Marius, their shoulders touching, and he felt a smile creeping up at the obvious, unconscious show of affection.

Katya shrugged.

„I know that this probably sounds mad to you. But when I talked to him he was interested, open to listen to other opinions. He had his own, for sure, but was always willing to debate and at least consider. I don't know how much he knows about what you are doing but..." she hesitated for a moment, „well. I guess if he is asking for you specifically, and Courfeyrac, then somehow the damage is already done, is it not? Also, with all that is happened, I think you are out in the open in any case."

She frowned, thinking matters over for a moment.

„He came back from London, and in secret", Marius said, a slight hint of a question in his voice. „That must mean he knows something is going on. Actually", he corrected himself, „I've never been to London. But doing the math, he must have left the city just around when this whole thing started. So either he is here by coincidence..."

„... or he knew something." Elodie stated the obvious.

„Or learned something", Katya softened the statement, but the point remained. „But he didn't ask us to go to some place that he frequents. He is coming to Madame Krasnicky's. Thats friendly ground for you and me, much more than for him."

And all the more astounding. Depending on the interpretation of history, the polish had many reasons to be cross with the man. Feuilly took a deep breath.

„You are right, though, Katya", he finally admitted, coming to the inevitable conclusion of the matter. „He probably knows already enough to have his position firmly fixed on us. There is more harm in angering him by not showing up than there is in talking to him."

He swallowed. „Although I do feel I will need something strong for my nerves in the morning as we go there."

And Katya, because she was who she was, reacted in the way that was so inexplicably, wonderfully hers. She scooped closer to him, leaned against him, head on his shoulder, arm sneaking around his waist.

„You will have me", she reminded. „Will that be enough?"

And maybe, just maybe, Feuilly thought, it would.

wiki/Charles_Maurice_de_Talleyrand-P

Just for those who do not know what the fuss is about