Bahorel can keep racing if he likes. Enjolras has drawn to a halt, and he settles down now into what is, for a dog, a remarkably catlike seated posture. (He hasn't tried this before, and it requires the same careful lack of attention. If he thinks too hard about it, he'll end up focusing on the fact that he has too many legs, and he usually stands to talk to someone above eye level, and also he would infinitely rather be wearing clothes than fur.)

There's no way to say sort of in this body. Well, at least he can nod once, with what's probably a familiar dignity -- yes, it is him. To the following question, his ears prick forward slightly; there's not much else he can do in useful answer.

The dry look that Prouvaire gets definitely indicates that either Enjolras can understand him or he can guess, though.