Gad, it's like talking to Feuilly. All that dire seriousness. If the lean-to weren't in the way, Bahorel would ruffle Harry's hair.

But at least Feuilly knows not to be so damned respectful with him. Bahorel grins. "No need to be so sober about it; you'd have despised me there. Most of the people I met, I met in bars and cafes; we drank, we gambled, we brawled, we danced. And I loved that, too." That had been part of the whole conversation, the flow and art of Paris herself and the preparations for revolution in particular. Bahorel knows he can argue for it well enough. But he'll give Harry a chance to understand it on his own.