Lips pressed together, Enjolras dipped his chin at the claim of a clear mind. He was able to hold his tongue on the matter, but he could not stop his gaze from flitting toward the bottle the other had knocked to the floor. Had he ever seen Grantaire with a truly clear mind? A bit of wine was not the problem. The others partook freely and joyfully, but never to the point of dulling their wits and senses. Only one of them drank himself into a stupor.

"I did see," he said, sounding more resigned and exasperated than before. "If my presence were all it took, you would have completed the task the first time. Your distraction was far too complete if you do not know who was there to witness your failure."

Perhaps, in a way, he pitied Grantaire. He was a man playing at having a passion, having an ambition. It was less convincing than children playing at war with sticks for swords and would get him nowhere. No one could provide it for him, and he would continue to fail so long as he searched for these things at the bottom of wine bottles.