When Marius got home, Courfeyrac was waiting outside the door, leaning against the wall beside the door in a languid tangle of overlong limbs.
“Oh,” Marius said, surprised.
“I do know where you live,” Courfeyrac pointed out. Marius ducked his head, embarrassed, and nodded.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I just thought– I don’t know. I– come in, if you’d like.”
He held open the door and Courfeyrac sauntered in and tossed his hat onto Marius’s bed. Marius watched him in nervous expectation, plainly wanting to ask something he was too timid to actually say. So instead, eventually, Courfeyrac said, “Combeferre has made us all feel that way at one time or another. You mustn’t take it personally.”
Marius flushed. “Thank you. I will not.”
Courfeyrac frowned. “I hope you do not think–”
“Think what,” Marius said, too quickly.
“–that that was some kind of test. That I brought you to meet my friends in hopes of seeing you embarrassed. I hope you do not think that of me!” he went on when Marius did not answer. “I cannot imagine the kind of man who would do something like that.”
My grandfather, Marius did not say. He did say, “No. I do not– I do not think that was your intent. Though I understand…”
Marius shrugged. “If you… that is, our views…” He gestured vaguely, as if even he was not sure what he meant to say. At last he settled on: “It seems I am not really of the right persuasion to make one among your friends.”
Courfeyrac looked genuinely startled, then broke into his usual half-teasing grin. “Really, Marius, the most shocking development of the day is to discover how low your estimation of my character really is. You think I cannot countenance having a friend whose opinions differ from mine? If you cannot tolerate my politics, then I understand and will leave you at once. But I make no quarrel with your opinions at all. I did not befriend you to indoctrinate you. I befriended to– well, to be your friend.”
Marius looked away and said nothing– could not speak. Courfeyrac laughed and clapped him on the back, tugged him close so their shoulders bumped together (or would have done if Courfeyrac’s shoulder were not significantly higher than Marius’s).
“I will call on you tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve been promising to dine with Bossuet for a week now, and you will join us.”
He scooped his hat up off the bed, tipped it at Marius, and was gone. Marius sunk down on the bed with an unvoluntary sigh that seemed to him to be of relief. Not, he realized, relief that Courfeyrac was gone– but that he had come.
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