The cruelty of all the ways in which their poor worlds fell short remains, a deep and constant pain.
But this was real. A real Paris, an entire Earth, where this came to pass; where a Jean-Sébastien Enjolras, a Jean-Luc Combeferre, a Bahorel and a Joly and a Feuilly and a Jean Prouvaire and all the rest of them lived to see the Republic dawn. They couldn't bring it about, not in Enjolras's world and not in Combeferre's, no matter how much he and Bossuet strove to change their little corner of history. But in some world, the citizens of France know that bright triumph and concord as simple fact, achieved, unassailable.
A few tears have slid down his cheeks, twin glittering trails, cool against the warmth of the morning sunlight. His shoulders have sagged, very slightly, in a rare moment of rest.
"Good," is all he says, softly. His heart is full.
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But this was real. A real Paris, an entire Earth, where this came to pass; where a Jean-Sébastien Enjolras, a Jean-Luc Combeferre, a Bahorel and a Joly and a Feuilly and a Jean Prouvaire and all the rest of them lived to see the Republic dawn. They couldn't bring it about, not in Enjolras's world and not in Combeferre's, no matter how much he and Bossuet strove to change their little corner of history. But in some world, the citizens of France know that bright triumph and concord as simple fact, achieved, unassailable.
A few tears have slid down his cheeks, twin glittering trails, cool against the warmth of the morning sunlight. His shoulders have sagged, very slightly, in a rare moment of rest.
"Good," is all he says, softly. His heart is full.
"Good."