Enjolras's tolerant exasperation -- the exasperation directed at the absent spy, the tolerance at his friends -- disappears instantly into intent focus, as he moves so they can all look at the pages together.

"Yes. Nearly all of them, from the barricade." He indicates a few with light touches, some with more certainty than others: "These I couldn't swear to." He glances at the others, looking for input or reactions. "He may have details wrong, or they may have kept to the back of the crowd, or left early. But the others, yes."

And that Javert can draw them so clearly, face after face, is -- not good.