Courfeyrac bounded through the bookstore, leaving Combeferre behind as he happily (and rather quickly) wandered between shelves. Pouncing every now and then upon a hapless volume, he brushed away dust and tucked it under his arm. At last, he ventured to go so far as buying them, and made his way to the counter, pounding lightly on it. The clerk walked over, head bowed to study the cover of some ancient tome, golden curls spilling about. Courfeyrac smiled serenely.
"Cheri mam'selle--" he called out. The head was lifted, the curls pushed back, and Martin stared, horror-struck.
Enjolras simply glared.
Back to the Index.