"Seem to be, yes, indeed," echoes Grantaire, with a hint of impatience -- which may have something to do with the fact that he just lifted the bottle to his lips, an found it empty -- "but how, why, for what purpose? Not even the faintest hint of a speculation, an iota of an inkling as to a greater pattern? I, I embrace the irrational, but you --"

Oh, look! Portents of death. How charming.