It was about this epoch that Enjolras, in view of a possible catastrophe, instituted a kind of mysterious census. All were present at a secret meeting at the Café Musain. It is proper that we should know where we stand and on whom we may count. If combatants are required, they must be provided. Passers-by always have more chance of being gored when there are bulls on the road than when there are none. Let us reckon a little on the herd. Revolutionists should always be hurried; progress has no time to lose. Let us not be caught unprepared. We must go over all the seams that we have made and see whether they hold fast. This business ought to be concluded to-day. Courfeyrac will see the polytechnic students; it is their day to go out. Feuilly will see those of the Glacière. Combeferre has promised Picpus. Bahorel will visit the Estrapade. Prouvaire will bring news of the masons, who are growing lukewarm. Joly will feel the pulse of the medical school. Bossuet will take a little turn among the young law licentiates. Enjolras will take charge of the Cougourde himself. That arranges everything, said Courfeyrac. No. What else is there? A very important thing. The Barrière du Maine.
At the Barrière du Maine there are marble-workers, painters, and journeymen in the studios of sculptors. They are an enthusiastic family, but liable to cool off. They are thinking of something else. They are becoming extinguished. They pass their time playing dominoes. Those ashes must be fanned into a glow. For that errand Enjolras had counted on that abstracted Marius, who is a good fellow on the whole, but he no longer comes to us. I need some one for the Barrière du Maine. I have no one. What about me? said Grantaire. You? You indoctrinate republicans. You warm up hearts that have grown cold in the name of principle. Why not? You do not believe in everything. I believe in you. Grantaire will you do me a service? Anything. I'll black your boots. Well, don't meddle with our affairs. Sleep yourself sober from your absinthe. You the man to go to the Barrière du Maine. You capable of it. Grantaire named the whole walk, street by street, from the Rue de Grès to Richefeu's. My shoes are capable of that. What will you say to them? I will speak to them of Robespierre. Of Danton. Of principles. I can talk the most superb twaddle for six hours by the clock, watch in hand. Be serious, said Enjolras. I am wild, replied Grantaire. Enjolras meditated, and made the gesture of a man who has taken a resolution. Grantaire, he said gravely, I consent to try you. You shall go to the Barrière du Maine. Grantaire lived very near. He went out, and five minutes later he returned in a Robespierre waistcoat. Red, said he, and he looked intently at Enjolras. Then he laid the two scarlet points across his breast, stepped up, and whispered: Be easy. He jammed his hat on resolutely and departed.
A quarter of an hour later, the back room of the Café Musain was deserted. All the friends of the A B C were gone, each in his own direction, each to his own task. Enjolras, who had reserved the Cougourde of Aix for himself, was the last to leave. Those members who were in Paris then met on the plain of Issy, in one of the abandoned quarries. As he walked, he passed the whole situation in review. The gravity of events was self-evident. He descried a luminous uplifting beneath the gloomy skirts of the future. Perhaps the moment was at hand. The people were again taking possession of right. The revolution was again majestically taking possession of France and saying to the world: The sequel to-morrow. Enjolras was content. The furnace was being heated. He had at that moment a powder train of friends scattered all over Paris. He composed, in his own mind, with Combeferre's eloquence, Feuilly's enthusiasm, Courfeyrac's dash, Bahorel's smile, Prouvaire's melancholy, Joly's science, Bossuet's sarcasms, a sort of electric spark which took fire nearly everywhere at once. This made him think of Grantaire. Hold, said he to himself, the Barrière du Maine will not take me far out of my way. What if I were to go on as far as Richefeu's? Let us have a look at what Grantaire is about, and see how he is getting on. One o'clock was striking from the Vaugirard steeple when Enjolras reached the smoking-room. He pushed open the door, entered, folded his arms, letting the door fall to and strike his shoulders, and gazed at that room filled with tables, men, and smoke. A voice broke forth from the mist. It was Grantaire holding a dialogue with an adversary, sitting at a marble table strewn with grains of bran and dotted with dominos, hammering the table with his fist. Double-six. You weren't expecting that double-six. If I had placed it at the beginning, the whole play would have been changed. Domino. Plague take it.
