Enjolras (
pro_patria_mortuus) wrote2015-01-21 10:27 pm
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In Room 89, the television is on. Courfeyrac has been mastering the arcane mysteries of the remote control.
Previously, this meant a great deal of switching between channels at random intervals; Enjolras arrived in the middle of this exercise, and settled down with a book and his thoughts to affectionately ignore Courfeyrac's entertainment. (It was a bit like being in a mostly empty café or near an open window, except that the sound abruptly flickered to a new scene every so often.) But then Courfeyrac found a show created by the Tourism Board of France.
Right now, a cheerful woman's voice is explaining the Lemon Festival of Menton.
Previously, this meant a great deal of switching between channels at random intervals; Enjolras arrived in the middle of this exercise, and settled down with a book and his thoughts to affectionately ignore Courfeyrac's entertainment. (It was a bit like being in a mostly empty café or near an open window, except that the sound abruptly flickered to a new scene every so often.) But then Courfeyrac found a show created by the Tourism Board of France.
Right now, a cheerful woman's voice is explaining the Lemon Festival of Menton.
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"He did give us that last uniform at the barricade," Combeferre says. "I suspect he will be amenable to an appeal on behalf of those of our sympathies, who will go on to play a role in 1848. Their lives and liberty, their families...I believe he will feel charitably to them, regardless of his disinterest in their politics."
He believes this based on what he's read in the novel. Highly embroidered it may be, even altered in many details, but the charitable impulse--that is a consistent feature throughout the book, and tallies with what Combeferre saw in the old eccentric at the barricade, and with what he's heard of Fauchelevent since. Combeferre believes in Fauchelevent's charity because he knows things he has no real right to know. There's a twinge of guilt that accompanies this; still, it would be foolish to ignore such a weapon. And information is a weapon--the greatest weapon--even as it is a balm and a light.
Combeferre doesn't like that thought much. It turns his greatest passion to violent ends. He sits down, and rests his chin on his hands.
"Let us hope so, anyway," he finishes.
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Still, he sits down too.
'I cannot contribute before reading it; I cannot claim any knowledge of him at all, beyond his actions at the barricade. But while it may be a hard thing to ask of him if he is friendly with the spy, surely he cannot possibly refuse to help? If he is a charitable man - and he is a man who will not kill, even! - then he will not condemn any future families by inaction.'
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"Then I wish you good luck for that conversation, my friend," he says, wryly. "It will be painful for him, and I expect for you also--but perhaps it may be fruitful nonetheless."
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He looks down at the book in his hands, his expression rueful.
'It is not a good position for anyone, but we must make the best of it. Save who can be saved, if possible. So I wish you luck also, Enjolras.'
In the meantime, he is going to read the novel.