[ Grantaire would argue that “passionate” is the only word to properly describe Enjolras and his beliefs, but that sparks his memory. He had only spoken to one person in that post, and it was to intervene into a conversation that had gotten particularly intense.

His gaze softens at the mere mention of Enjolras, though his smile and his voice both take on a melancholy quality. He utterly reveres Enjolras, but he feels as though he’s capable of being nothing but a disappointment to him. ]

Enjolras would not consider me a friend, if he were here among us now, but that must have been none other than me. Was I of help you? [ He looks genuinely surprised as his fingers tap idly against the rim of his empty glass. ] That is a surprise indeed. Perhaps you can tell Enjolras. I recall speaking to you, mademoiselle, but I can hardly recall what it was that I said to you. I warned you of his inflexibility, did I not?