Enjolras remained for a moment as though absorbed in reflection, then he resumed:—
“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. I don’t know what has been the matter with them for some time past. They are thinking of something else. They are becoming extinguished. They pass their time playing dominoes. There is urgent need that someone should go and talk with them a little, but with firmness. They meet at Richefeu’s. They are to be found there between twelve and one o’clock. Those ashes must be fanned into a glow. For that errand I had counted on that abstracted Marius, who is a good fellow on the whole, but he no longer comes to us. I need someone for the Barrière du Maine. I have no one.”
“What about me?” said Grantaire. “Here am I.”
“You?”
“I.”
“You indoctrinate republicans! you warm up hearts that have grown cold in the name of principle!”
“Why not?”
“Are you good for anything?”
“I have a vague ambition in that direction,” said Grantaire.
“You do not believe in everything.”
“I believe in you.”
“Grantaire will you do me a service?”
“Anything. I’ll black your boots.”