Aghast, Javert whipped his head around, searching for anything or anyone. Nothing? How could there be nothing in this hotbed of revolutionary activity? No soapbox, no boisterous students inquiring if one had heard the people singing, no French flags, not even one, "Down with the Bourbon regime!" The square was empty. Dejected, Javert leaned up against a lamppost with the glass all broken out, and pulled out his snuffbox.

Then all of a sudden he heard a loud crash, the sound of wood splintering, and a stentorian working class woman's voice rising over it all. Javert spun around in the direction of the cacophony. The commotion was coming from the dirction of the Cafe Musain. Javert smirked. It seemed as if there would be some action that evening after all.

The heavy oak door of the building slammed open with a frightful bang. A man's voice crashed out into the evening air.

"I'll fix you in faith, dear hostess!"

"The only thing you'll fix is a pair of stocks, you drunken rogue!" answered the booming female voice. A symphony of clattering cookware accompanied her threat.

"Rogue! Cessez, madame, for you have insulted the good name of the Grantaire family. Apologize immediately, or, sadly, I will be forced to take measures." The man spoke in a lilting and mocking tenor, full of vivacity and a great deal of wine.

"Apologize!" the woman screeched. "You! You come into my winery, you drink my best-and my worst-wine, you break over a dozen wine glasses and refuse to pay for them, and then you scare away all of my customers with your inebriated ramblings! I should call the Inspector!"

Now thoroughly enjoying himself, Javert crept closer to the scene. This was certainly action of the variety he had hoped for.

More crashes resounded from inside, and without ceremony, the man who called himself Grantaire was tossed out onto the curb. A gargantuan woman-type creature covered in spilled wine and brandishing a frying pan appeared in the doorway. In anger, her face was redder than the spirits that had been splashed on her frock.

"What do you have to say to that, you worthless bum?" she demanded of the man now lying in the gutters.

Grantaire gave a hearty laugh in return. "Dear Inspector Javert! Let him come and kindly! A day locked up never did me any harm. It's been a few weeks since I've seen the constable anyhow; I should wonder how his wife is faring after the baby." The drunk laughed some more, then leaned back. Presently his mirth melted into slumber, and only snores came from his mouth.

The mistress of the establishment scrutinized Grantaire for a moment more before giving a lofty sigh and returning inside, the door slamming after her. The affair was ended.

But not for Javert. His night was just beginning. He approached the sleeping man with caution, lest he wake him from his drunken stupor. He crouched down beside him in the gutter and carefully prodded him with his cane. Javert's only answer was an immense snore. Javert smiled.

"Too many times have I hauled this swine off the streets for drunk and disorderly conduct," he thought to himself. "I belive a trick will perhaps teach him a lesson...but what?"

He glanced back down at Grantaire. A moment later, a ploy had been concieved.

"Of course! I shall take this man into the back of the cafe, and, while he sleep off his excess of drink, I will clothe him in the manner of a French nobleman!" He paused, pacing excitedly back and forth. "There I shall have a banquet brought in, and servants even! And perhaps new clothing as well. Would he not then forget himself?"

Smiling wickedly, Javert hauled up Grantaire as if he were no more than a sack of potatoes, and again approached the Cafe Musain. His knock was swiftly answered by the proprietress. Although her visage soured somewhat when she saw Grantaire, she greeted, "Good evening, dear Inspector, lovely evening?"

"Yes, indeed," Javert replied. "Listen to me, madame-" He leaned over and whispered his connivance into her ear. The woman's eyes flashed with admiration at Javert's cunning. A few gestures brought forth her serving girls and her son. Together they brought the still-sleeping Grantaire into the back, leaving Javert and the mistress at the door.

"Inspector, I'll keep an eye on him. When he wakes, you'll be the first to know!" she told him with a twinkle in her eye.

Smugly, the Inspector answered, "Yes, thank you madame, for your cooperation in this matter."

"No, thank you!" she said earnestly. "Anything to get that Grantaire off my hands!"

Just a few moments later, the same boy in the threadbare black coat hurried past him, obviously intent on entering the cafe. Javert grabbed one of his arms and whirled him around to face him. A pile of books and papers scattered to the ground. Javert gazed intently into the poor boy's gigantic and bewildered eyes.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Javert snarled.

The boy gazed dumbly back at him. "I-um-mmmy friends...I-oh...." He trailed off.

Javert rolled his eyes. "Stupid dolt," he thought to himself. "Your name, boy!" he demanded savagely.

The boy made an attempt to straighten himself up. "Mmmy name is Mmmarius Pontmercy...sir," he stammered.

"Pontmercy, eh?" Javert took a step closer, causing Marius to back away until he tripped over the curb and fell into the gutter. "And what is your business here?"

Pathetically, Marius pulled himself up from the gutter. He was now soaked and covered in garbage. "Sir, I was meeting a group of friends here-"

"Names," Javert interrupted.

"Ah...Courfeyrac, um...Combeferre, Joly, Enjolras, I suppose..."

Enjolras! Perhaps the dolt also knew the drunkard.

"Pontmercy, do you know an inebriate who goes by the name of Grantaire?"

Afraid to lie, Marius nodded.

The corners of Javert's mouth turned up in a terrible smile. He roughly grabbed Marius and dragged him inside the Cafe Musain.

"Another wine, mademoiselle!" he slurred. "And a round for the boys...even Enjolras. Get him drunk for me!" The man laughed in his sleep. "Enjolras! Sleep with me...it's for the good of France!"

Javert raised an eyebrow. This added a whole new dimension to his plot.

He slowly turned toward Marius, who still apparently didn't know what to think. Meekly, Marius met Javert's steely gaze-and immediately regreted it.

"Boy," Javert addressed him. "You say you know this revolutionary Enjolras?"

Wincing, Marius nodded. He was beginning to greatly regreat his coming out to the Cafe.

"Pontmercy, I want you to impersonate this man in all suits. That done, return here to the drunkard Grantaire. You will pretend to be his lover. Embrace him, kiss him, lay your head upon his shoulder and show complete joy at seeing him restored to health. Tell him that for seven years he thought himself to be no more than a common Parisian student." Javert paused. "And make it convincing!" he growled.

Marius looked like a deer caught in a hunter's snare. "I bbbeg your ppardon?" he stuttered.

"You heard me!"

"I can't kiss Grantaire!" Marius backed away. "Enjolras...Enjolras will be furious, I will profane the name of Les Amis...oh dear, oh dear...I CAN'T KISS GRANTAIRE!"

Javert growled and advanced upon the quivering boy. "You can and will, or you'll answer to me!" A red sash lay on a nearby chair. Javert picked it up and pulled it tightly around Marius' neck. "You understand, Pontmercy?"

Marius gulped. "I understand."

He looked about to further investigate, and immediately found himself looking into a fierce pair of blue eyes: Javert. But as the Inspector had doffed his hat, Grantaire did not recognize him. Grantaire gaped at him in utter ignorance of his situation. The proprietress and her son sat nearby. Opulent clothing lay over all of the chairs, and an ivory washtup had been placed on a table. Several serving girls stood in the corner holding plates heaped high with candied fruits and chocolates. Even the bed which held Grantaire had been outfitted with purple linen sheets and perfumed with roses.

"My lord!" Javert exclaimed, easily stepping into his role. "Finally you have awoken!"

Grantaire blinked. "Pardon?"

Javert feigned surprise. "My lord...you mean you do not remember?"

"Pardon?"

Grasping for patience, Javert explained, "My lord, you have just recovered your senses after seven long years of believing yourself to be no more than a mere student."

"Pardon!"

The proprietress stepped in. "Your Honour, would a glass of sherry please you?"

"It may help to revive you, my lord," her son added.

"My lord!" Grantaire exclaimed. "I am not your lord. Call me 'Grantaire,' for that is my name. Or drunken bastard if you must, at least it suits me better!"

Javert shook his head and sighed, "My poor lord. He still has not yet completely thrown off his madness."

Grantaire scowled. "If I am mad, the cause is you, sir!" He rose and made for the door. "Now I bid you good day!"

"Is it any wonder that your family has forsaken you? This lunacy has driven them leagues from your house!" Javert turned towards Grantaire, who was fumbling with the door knob. "And to think all you have given up! Servants ready at your beck and call, a beautiful white townhouse with a stable in the back, personal tailors, butlers and chefs, exotic birds with voices that Apollo himself would be jealous of..."

At the mention of Apollo, Grantaire swung around. "What now?"

"Beds laid out with perfumes and silken pillows for any lustful purpose..."

"Lust for Apollo, huh..."

"And a thousand hawks and greyhounds to aid you in sport. Oh, my lord! It really is a shame."

"Ah, wait a moment there..."

"And to think of his poor lover!" exclaimed the proprietress. This sparked a choir of chatters from the serving girls. "For such a beautiful boy to be all alone is tragic. The poor thing!"

Javert leaned in to her. "He will be most distraught." He winked at her, and turned back to Grantaire. "But if our lord has truly not recovered..."

Grantaire stepped into the centre of the room and began to examine himself. Staring at his hands, he asked, "Is it true? Am I a lord? Do I have such a lover? Or do I dream?" He faced Javert and smiled. "No, I believe that I have dreamed until now. I do not sleep. I see! I hear! I speak! Upon my life, I am a lord indeed!" The drunkard assumed a stance he thought looked regal, but it really just made him look ridiculous. He eyed the others present in the room. "Well, what are you all standing about for? How about some of that sherry you mentioned; I must say I'm fairly parched after my nap. Oh, and this lover of which you speak! Bring him to me. Perhaps he would also like some spirits to raise him some!"

As if on cue, Marius entered. He resembled Enjolras in every respect. The proprietress had lightened his hair with lemon juice and tied it back with a black ribbon. His jacket had been replaced with a resplendant scarlet vest adorned with golden braids. His cravat and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. A revolutionary cockade had been tied about his slender waist. He was miserable.

"Mmmy lord," Marius began. Then he hesitated. If Enjolras ever finds out about this...Javert shot him a furious look. Frightened, Marius rushed out the end of his memorized line. "My love, how are you feeling?"

Grantaire gave him the once over twice, then grinned hungrily. "Enjolras! I am rather pleased to learn that you were not merely a figment of my imagination."

"His was the only name you remembered during your illness," Javert broke in.

"Oh yes, six-"

"Seven!"

"Seven long years! Oh Enjolras..." Grantaire advanced on the young student.

Wincing, Marius replied, "It seemed longer, my love, being parted from your bed every night." Internally, Marius bemoaned his misfortune. Oh why did I have to come to the Cafe Musain tonight! Of all nights!

"Leave us!" Grantaire announced. He snuck around the trembling Marius and ripped off his waist sash. "I musn't make my dear Enjolras wait any longer for my kiss."

All but Javert made a hasty exit. Grantaire unbuttoned his shirt, slurring out a folk song. Things were about to get ugly for poor Marius.

Marius stiffened. He glanced at Javert, entreating him for any possible aid. He recieved none. Panicking, he thought fast.

"My lord!" He took a step back from the drunkard. "Do you really think it wise? I mean, seven years is such a-a long time. I believe that it may be better to wait a night or two, after you have been examined by the best of Parisian doctors...or at least by Joly."

"Joly?"

Javert violently jabbed Marius in the back and growled.

"No. No, ah, not Joly. Apparently you-ah-made him up. My mistake, my lord."

Grantaire's face fell. "Shame...he was rather comely..."

At this, the one of the serving girls reentered the room, looking worried. She hurried over to Javert and whispered something in his ear. He paled.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

His answer came in the form of a powerful tenor voice booming in from the main room.

"Madame, if you tell me that my fellow citizens and I are not to be admitted into our customary dining room, you must give me a reason!"

Enjolras! Marius fainted. Grantaire took advantage of this opportunity to hoist him up onto the bed.

Footsteps echoed into the room. Javert muttered something to the serving girl under his breath, then turned to Grantaire.

"Please excuse me, my lord." he said, who ignored him, as he was busy trying to undo Marius' pants. Javert then stalked over to the door.

But before he had a chance to open it himself, it slammed open in his face, revealing Enjolras, the harried-looking proprietress, a few serving girls fawning over Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly with his arms full of books and papers.

Enjolras surveyed the room. His visage became angry and terrible.

"What is this?!" he demanded, marching into the centre of the room. "GRANTAIRE!"

At the sound of Enjolras' voice and the mention of his own name, Grantaire turned away from Marius. His entire face lit up upon seeing the God-like figure in the middle of the room.

"Two! There are two of them! Oh God! God! I am a believer, because my prayers have just been answered!" He shuffled over to his desire, and told him, "You can just head on over to the bed with the other Enjolras." Grantaire fell to his knees. "Thank you, God, thank you!"

Marius had the extraordinarily bad luck to sit up just at that moment. Seeing Enjolras, all color drained from his face.

"PONTMERCY! WHAT IS THIS ALL ABOUT?!"

Grantaire rose. "Pontmercy? Marius?" He looked crestfallen. "Well, he's a start.."

It was all Marius could do to mutely point at Javert. His eyes were as big as saucers, his mouth had fallen slackly open, and he was ready to pass out again.

"You! You traitor to the people, terror to the fine city of Paris! You must be behind this!"

"You! You traitor to the state, terror of the streets of Paris! You dare show your face here!"

The two men squared off in the centre of the room, shouting vehemently at each other.

"Gee, Marius, you don't look so good," said Joly, flitting over to the bed.

"Grantaire, why don't you tell me what's going on here?" Combeferre fixed his eyes upon the drunkard, who was beginning to doubt the validity of his newly acquired lordship.

"What now? Combeferre?"

The din in the tiny room quickly rose to a fever pitch. Javert and Enjolras had both turned bright red, but had not ceased their bellowing. The confrontation was about to become violent. Javert was brandishing his club at the revolutionary, who fought back with his fearsome and powerful rhetoric. Courfeyrac worked in vain to tear them apart. The chattering of the serving girls became a dull roar. Joly was desperately trying to find something wrong with Marius, who was yelping at him to get off. Grantaire was explaining the situation to Combeferre, clamoring to be heard. The bedlam was starting to even attract attention from outside. A group of people had gathering outside the Cafe Musain; they all were craning their heads to the window, hoping for a glimpse of the pandemonium. It was absolute chaos.

Finally, Combeferre just could not take it anymore.

"SILENCE!" he blasted.

In surprise, everyone in the room turned to look at him.

Quietly, he went on, "I think Grantaire has something to say."

Grantaire hung his head, and said meekly, "I suppose I'm not a lord then after all. Ah, well, it wouldn't have been all that grand after all. Well, except for sleeping with Enjolras. I admit that I really knew all along. What larks!" Weakly, he laughed. "I guess I'll be going now."

"Not so fast!" Javert stepped in front of him. The proprietress put her hand on Javert's arm, and told him, "Just let him go. I think he's learned his lesson."

Grudgingly, Javert moved aside, and Grantaire sidled out.

"Thank God that's over!" Marius exclaimed.

"Not for you it isn't, Pontmercy." Enjolras glared at him. "I think that you and I should have a little talk."

Marius gasped, and ran out of the room. The rest of the students bounded after him.

Javert remained stoic. "Good day, madam. I hope that, for your sake, that drunken rascal will not bother you again." He repositioned his hat, and simply walked out, not looking back.

Then suddenly, a loud crash was heard from inside the cafe. Shrieks followed.

Alarmed, Javert dashed over to the building. He pounded on the door. It burst open, and Grantaire was thrown out into the street.

"AND STAY OUT! You disruputable carouser! If I ever catch you hanging around here ever again, I'll have the Inspector called back, and next time he won't be so easy on you! Why, I ought to..." She trailed off as she tramped back inside.

Grantaire righted himself and looked around. Seeing Javert, his eyes widened, and he ran away as fast as he could, throwing a "Good evening, dear Inspector!" over his shoulder as he left.

Javert sighed. He didn't even bother to give chase. Somethings just never change.