The next day, the air is heavy with an impending thunderstorm shortly before dinnertime, but the more adventurous souls venture forth, ignoring the weather's warning. Several of them make it to Le Cafe Musain and shelter from the pouring rain there. Bahorel, his cheek newly bruised from last night's follies, spends much of his time watching the sky through the open back door, trading insults with thunderclaps. Grantaire appears to be sleeping through this doubled onslaught of raucous sounds. Prouvaire arrives early and leaves early, having convinced Combeferre to walk in the rain with him. Once Combeferre has departed, Enjolras gives Courfeyrac a slight smile and moves to sit next to him so that they can hear each other over Bahorel's apostrophes. "I was thinking about your wild idea, mon ami."

Courfeyrac blinks, then chuckles. "Were you, now?"

"It seems hardly fair of you to conscript a lady in absentia. Have you given her any warning that the Republic might require her charm in a different capacity than it currently does -- however tangential to the cause her services may be at the moment, that is? Besides which, the king is quite a bit too old for any girl, if in fact your young lady is a young lady and not a dowager." Enjolras shrugs a little. "If she's a dowager, send her to him, by all means, for she'll suit him."

Courfeyrac looks at him in some surprise. "I was joking."

Enjolras gives him a most solemn look. "I'm aware of that."

After a moment, Courfeyrac grins. "All right, then."

"It could still work, at least in jest."

"Perhaps." Courfeyrac stretches. "Convincing her would be the easiest bit, really."

Enjolras frowns at this. "Really."

Courfeyrac laughs. "Oh, come, mon ami. With you to speak for her, the Republic could have any number of handmaidens for the asking, as I'm sure you know."

This makes him blush. "I would not be able to convince a lady to do such a thing."

"Of course you would," amused. "You'd only have to look at her in your so-earnest way--"

"Courfeyrac!" Enjolras glares at him. "It's not funny."

If -- and I say if -- your wild idea were valid," relenting somewhat, "it would not be appropriate to coerce some innocent girl into self-sacrifice."

"A very large if," Courfeyrac says peaceably. "I suppose you could dress up in petticoats and go yourself."

Enjolras laughs. "I doubt I could obtain an audience wearing only petticoats."

Courfeyrac grins. "It would get his attention."

"Doubtless, but would it be persuasive?"

"Quite possibly not."

Enjolras considers the situation, his chin on his hand. "But there must be something in it."

"Do you think so?" slightly startled.

"If only as a misdirection tactic, to distract him from more important events -- perhaps."

Courfeyrac watches him curiously, but his tone remains light. "Perhaps." And then, slowly, "There are, of course, the aforesaid children."

"True enough." Enjolras shrugs a little. "I don't know of any women who are astute enough in political matters to do more than, ah, be an immediate distraction."

Courfeyrac grins. "But you'd be quite handy at sweeping a princess off her feet."

"A princess!" incredulously. "What possible use would that be to France?"

"Oh, I don't know," with a shrug. "But as long as I'm thinking of wild ideas--"

"She'd marry some Spanish or Italian or English nobleman," Enjolras objects with a wave of his hand, "and then where would I be?"

"Left in the cold." Courfeyrac mimes dramatic despair. "Fair enough."

Enjolras smiles. "Precisely. A waste of time."

Courfeyrac grins, and then jumps at a particularly vehement thunderclap. "God. Terrible weather."

Enjolras blinks. "So it is."

"Jehan's going to get himself struck by lightning one of these days." Courfeyrac shakes his head. "Anyway."

"With any luck, it won't be today." Enjolras glances at the window. "In any case, yes. Princesses are not valuable to anyone but kings themselves."

"Perhaps not," shrugging.

"Not unless they are particularly beloved of their fathers and possess great influence. If one had the prince's ear, though --" Enjolras shrugs a little. "That would be something."

"True," meditatively.

"I doubt he'd stroll in here," Enjolras says, glancing at the door again.

Courfeyrac peers at him. "Not without persuasion."

"Precisely."

"You're thinking of it, aren't you," bemusedly.

"It would be splendidly fortuitous if the man who might well be our next king, God help us all, were responsible enough to seek ways to better his government, and where better than La Sorbonne?" Enjolras waves a hand in the direction of the institution, just up the next block. "If we could talk to him for ten minutes, perhaps we could persuade him of something."

"Perhaps," Courfeyrac says cautiously. "It might take rather longer than ten minutes."

"Probably." Enjolras shakes his head. "And he wouldn't come here, in any case."

"No," Courfeyrac agrees. "Still--"

"Yes?"

Slowly, "You're about of an age. And -- you can be most convincing, mon ami."

Enjolras stares at him for a moment before responding. "I don't know if I could befriend a prince, let alone --" He blushes. "It's all a wild idea, in any case, as I'm hardly likely to meet him."

Courfeyrac regards him in wonderment. "I'm sure it could be arranged, if we took enough trouble."

"How so?" frowning at him. "I don't know anyone in that sort of tyrannical position, not in Paris, and the few I know at home would sooner write to the palace guards to ban me from the city than help me meet this man."

Courfeyrac laughs. "Would they really? I congratulate you. I've never managed to be that irritating."

Enjolras smiles at his own memories. "It wasn't irritation, really. I frightened them, I think. They believed that if I weren't a boy, I would have done anything in the world to rid the village of them. Which is, in its own way, the absolute truth."

Courfeyrac chuckles. "Quite."

"So all of this planning was to pass the time, no more." Enjolras shrugs. "Do you think it's still pouring?"

"It seems to be." Courfeyrac eyes the door. "Perhaps not quite so thoroughly."

"Ah, well."

"I expect," Courfeyrac begins, but just then there is a clatter on the stairs, and Combeferre comes back in, soaked. "Hello."

"Good evening," Enjolras says, and clucks his tongue. "I do hope you had a good time."

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