Joly slid into class just as role began, fortunately not with his name. Blondeau did not teach medicine. He slipped into a seat in the back, next to Bahorel.
“Where were you? I was afraid you were going to be late.”
“I’m here now. I need to talk to you about Thursday’s meeting. We’re changing it to 7 o’clock at the Café Musain.”
“Mlle Feuilly can’t come until after her shift ends, so we’re all meeting for dinner.”
“And we refuse to dine at Corinth.”
“Monsieur Joly?” the role taker called.
“Présent. So,” he said, turning back to Bahorel, “is that OK?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“One question. Do you know where it is?”
“Why? You don’t?”
“Never heard of it. It’s one of Grantaire’s places.”
“Ah, Capital R recommended it to you. Yes, I know the place, it’s actually better than Corinth for these meetings. Even as students, we won’t attract suspicion in that neighborhood. Of course, I know why Grantaire recommended it to you. They have a wonderful red wine, straight out of the casks. Enjolras would never approve.”
“Will you be there?”
“Great.” The professor began to lecture on the disorders of the liver, which enthralled Joly, bored Bahorel, and prevented conversation for the duration of the class.
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