Dandelions and windows.

[irma_boissy]

Despite the fact that everyone in the house asked and wondered who left those dandelions,  (and even some of them suspected that they were for Irma), Irma did not say a thing.

Even if she knew everything about them and didn't even need to guess who was the mysterious gentleman who left them. 

It had been Monsieur Grantaire. 

Maybe she was waiting for another visit of his, maybe not, but the next two nights, she had barely slept.

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[fitofgrandair]

After his initial encounter with Irma Boissy, Grantaire had determined to move forward more slowly than is his wont. Usually, he has found it advisable to begin and close such relationships as quickly as possible; within the night, if possible, and at longest by the end of the week. There was no use in becoming attached or falling into thorny entanglements, and most of his targets had no interest in remaining for long (Grantaire took care to actively discourage those who showed inclinations otherwise).

Grantaire doesn't expect this particular acquaintanceship to last very long; his face is hardly a match for her undeniable beauty, and she must soon discover the roughness of manner that has been so useful in warding off others. He will, he thinks, be fortunate if she should so much as deign to speak with him again.

Whether she will or won't speak, he has rather enjoyed drawing the initial stages out (and given her loveliness and apparent wit, she is well worth the extra effort). The night after meeting Mademoiselle Boissy, Grantaire had approached her house well past midnight, leaving a bouquet of dandelions. And then he had waited. He made no return trip (there was no telling whether the girl might be waiting to catch him in the act, and he had no desire to be discovered with her family so close at hand), and avoided the street on which he had found her.

Today, though. Today, he shakes himself into action with time to spare and a mild headache (promptly vanquished with a glass of wine), setting out toward the street where he hopes to encounter the lady with the charming mien. It is of course possible that she will take an alternate route, that she may remain at home, or that she may not be called to work with the greater body of Parisians. Well, and if so? Then he has given it a shot, might actually make it to the studio in a timely fashion, and can try seeking her out later.

For the time being, he strolls idly up and down the street, stopping to talk with men he knows and men he vaguely recognizes, making idle chatter and catching a bit of what passes for news. He talks, he watches, and he waits. Where is that lovely girl?

[irma_boissy]

That lovely girl happens to be walking in his very same direction, minding her own business as there she has quite the lot of business to mind.

She knows the place well enough to go around paying no more attention than what's necessary for her to not trip over or get stolen or whatever may seem important.

But she wouldn't certainly deny that Monsieur Grantaire occupied a great deal of her thoughts lately. She was in love, as little Agnès had so succinctly put in a conversation with the twins. (It would later come into Irma's attention that Agnès herself was pretty much enamoured of a gamin called Gavroche).

And her sister was right.

When Irma saw sees, a smile draws on her face, and, as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and a pair of eyes in love tend to see the object of affections in proportion to the love they profess towards it, he seems to her more handsome, less homely than he first time they met.

Her sister was certainly right.

And so, she stops near him, maybe seeming ocuppied in something else, but waiting for him to notice her.

[fitofgrandair]

Fortune is on his side again, for there is the young woman who might catch the eye of any, looking just as delightful as he had recalled. Loosely engaged in conversation with a former fellow student, Grantaire continues speaking as she approaches... And as she pauses (not, he thinks, without having seen him). Another fortuitous sign, and he excuses himself abruptly, moving directly toward Irma.

"What vision is this? What freshness breaking through the dismal crowd?" Grantaire smiles broadly as he stops before her, permitting himself to take in the sight. "Mademoiselle Boissy, it is a pleasure to see you again.

"But perhaps I speak prematurely. Is it too much to presume that you recall this humble face or this voice that sounds such nonsense? Or may I hope that I have taken residence in some small portion of your memory?"

[irma_boissy]

"How could I forget the voice that proclaimed such beautiful exaggerations about me?" She asks "And yours is certainly a face I would not forget, Monsieur Grantaire."

She certainly does not mean harm with that last phrase. But if she has to explain, she wouldn't mind.

"Which reminds me I must thank you for the lovely present you left me." she smiles "Though I must admit it has caused quite a ruckus among my family."

[fitofgrandair]

"For good or for ill, I am pleased to have made an impression. To be held in your mind is chief among the joys a man might ask; almost, indeed, as precious as to be held in your embrace." It is perhaps a fine line that Grantaire skirts in conversation, but he has never been a man to court with caution. There is little to lose, after all... Though he must admit that it would be a shame to see such an enchanting girl slip away, especially after he had put patience into this pursuit.

"And I beg your pardon, dear lady; I ought to have warned you that I am an inveterate creator of ruckus. It is a roguishness that runs in my blood, alas, a trait marked from my youngest days. Still, this rough soul is gratified to know that his meager offering made its way into your hands, and that you deigned to recognize it as a gift. Indeed, this knowledge is more than sufficient to endow this wayward life with hope!"

[irma_boissy]

That is met by an intense blush in her cheeks. But nothing else. No slaps, not her going away, etc.
Because the thought of him and her... His embrace...She likes the idea, even though she would not be likely to admit it, at least at first.

"It is indeed a gift. And a most lovely one" She smiles again. Despite what her mother and Helène thought, it was now giving a lovely hint of colour to their house.

[fitofgrandair]

No refutation, no sign of displeasure. Unless she is out of her senses, the girl must be stricken, though Grantaire would be hard-pressed to say how. The strangeness of his approach, perhaps, and the flattery that he offers. Perhaps she believes that she glimpses something in him

Whatever the notion, she will be shaken from it soon enough. For now, he might as well enjoy the warmth thus offered. Her affection is flattering in a way, mistaken though it is (and if it can indeed be termed affection, though Grantaire can scarcely doubt it; he knows the signs, and he knows that there is little other reason that such a woman should tolerate his antics, let alone appear to enjoy them).

"That blush again. If anything, it is even more charming when set against the softer light of morning, a sight to touch my mind throughout the day."

He begins to raise his hand toward her face, then hesitates, withdrawing. Although a partly calculated gesture, it appears natural and feels correct for the moment; there is no tried and true formula for these encounters, and he has found that the best guide is impulse. Yes, it occasionally sends him into altercations and sometimes yields curt adieus and perhaps a sharp slap, but it keeps these affairs terrifically vibrant while they last.

"Please, allow me to offer a small token further." Pulling a mostly intact dandelion from his pocket, he gestures toward her hair. "May I?"

[irma_boissy]

She is stricken for sure, but not even she can explain it. Probably it is because of his lovely exaggerations, probably because of his dandelions, probably because he is terribly charming.

But she would not be able to pinpoint the exact reason.

She only knows at this moment that that touch would have been very welcomed, but in a certain way, she likes him even better for not continuing and doing instead what he's about to do.

"Of course you may"

[fitofgrandair]

"Merci." With studied grace, struck once again by the charming oddity of the dandelion, he threads the flower into place just above her ear. Smooths her hair. Then, keeping his hand touched gently against her hair, he places a soft kiss on her cheek and lingers for a moment before pulling back. Feeling her closeness, her vitality, and some resonance of that attraction she seems to have stumbled into. Understanding that she is gentle and alive, a sort of calm amid otherwise confounding currents.

"That I might be so near divinity..." Drawing away, hand still held to her head, he searches her face, the slightest movements of her body. She is, it must be admitted, enthralling to the eye, an image worthy of passing worship, perhaps of the limited immortality offered by canvas and color.

Though there are words upon words that might be spoken, Grantaire maintains the silence, holding her eyes if she will permit and offering a view of his own. Grantaire finds some pleasure in being beside her, certainly, and there must be some sign of this, some indication that for the moment, she holds his attention. Perhaps some promise, true or imagined; his adoration is, after all, in earnest, if only in passing. And he is doing his best to make her feel welcome, comfortable, wished for.

Still, if she peers beneath the surface levels of smiling and the half-facade of courtship, she may see something less than reassuring. Something of turbulence and an emptiness that cannot be touched by the naive smile of a lovely young woman. Whether she sees this or not... So much is for her to determine, and Grantaire pushes the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the sight and sense of the girl before him. On allowing her to know that he sees her radiance as beauty.

[irma_boissy]

Her father once told her that when she blushed (something that happened awfully often when she was a kid), it was like she had been eating roses. Never had the comparison been more appropriate than right now that she happened to be wearing a flower in her hair, and her cheeks had been incensed by the touch of his lips.

And yet, with everything, she finds herself at a loss for words. Wanting to say much, the words seemed to have stopped before even considering reaching her mouth, as her breast (compressed against that new corset she had made herself) seemed to go slowly up and down following her breath and her much quicker heartbeat.

Irma has never felt like this. Never has actually considered the fact that she could be admired in earnest by a man (all what was before was flirts and nothing beyond that. But Grantaire is different.), and she admired him back.

Because despite everything (she can already hear her mother and Helène saying out loud: "He is ugly!" "He doesn't deserve you!" she doesn't care), she finds herself admiring every single thing about this man. His features seem more handsome each moment that passes; his manners, that of a prince; his exaggerations, words of a poet. She loves him even though she barely knows him.

There's adoration, true and without any secret, in her eyes. And if she sees that less than reassuring part of his, she doesn't show it.

Still, she can't help but break eye contact and look down for a moment, suddenly aware of her red, hot cheeks, and sure he'll think of her as a silly little girl.

"I am afraid I might be too human, though"

[fitofgrandair]

Better and better still. Something to be had here, and something to be admired. Something genuine, and ah, how rare is that? It is and will be worth the playing out, worth these gestures and the periods of waiting, worth investing time and some part of himself.

This admiration, the welcome in her eyes. That alone is worth worlds!

(It is also admittedly unsettling, and through it Grantaire catches the breath of a whispered warning - playing too close, inevitability of it written in her eyes, isn't the same, isn't the same - but brushes it aside; if there should chance to be truth in it, such is life, and all will pass. Now is the time for enjoyment. Now is the place for earthly pursuits.)

Grantaire moves his fingers from her hair in a motion both cautious and firm, tracing the line of her jaw, thumb brushing over her cheek. Displays admiration and a growing interest.

"Your humanity is to your credit; pure divinity stands cold, removed as it is from the passions bound up in flesh." Something known too deeply, there - those of marble and abstraction, those insensible - but he skirts the thought and carries on. "To walk the line between humanity and the divine, to be both earthly and ethereal, is a feat rarely attained and worthy of great praise; indeed, of immortalization. Consider Helen and Ariadne, Calypso and Psyche, consider all such women who touched the divine and remain with us in name and image, who are yet adored by dream-struck mortals.

"The name 'Irma' is, I declare, destined to stand among them, and may even outshine their enchantment."

[irma_boissy]

The heat of her cheeks as his fingers traced the line of her jaw was rather wild for a healthy young lady like her, even though it seemed to calm as she began to get accustomed to his touch.

"That if it doesn't burn in flames like the rest of its owner seems about to do." She says in a half-joking tone that might show too clearly how not accustomed she is to such compliments.

[fitofgrandair]

"We must hazard combustibility as the cost of such exquisite visions. Indeed, this susceptibility to conflagration is precisely the mark of those who dabble in the divine."

It is rare indeed that he is permitted speak at length (and in strains verging into impertinent) to a girl so untouched. The majority of Grantaire's pursuits have been at least moderately hardened against the world, taking his own charm as fleeting and insubstantial, understanding his attention as the passing dalliance that it is (the reasons were unimportant, glanced only dimly and by two or three). Thus does Mademoiselle Boissy's charm seem all the more alluring.

[irma_boissy]

Part of her feels undeserving of such praise... And yet, the other welcomes it with open arms, calmer and calmer. She understands little of the ways of love beyond some passing fancies (that were nothing beyond that) and what she might have read in books.
Specially in these last years, she had forsaken any opportunity to go beyond and allow herself to feel what she is feeling right now because of her fears. Of her job. Of her family.
But she allows herself to do it now. And it's wonderful.
"But then, I am human after all. With human needs and a very human family. They certainly wouldn't like me going in flames."

[fitofgrandair]

"Then we must take care to keep you anchored in this mortal world; it is particularly suited to dampening immoderate zeal, and in this case may for once prove desirable. The world - those souls fortunate enough to term themselves your family, along with the rest of us - would never recover from the sudden loss of your grace."

Withdrawing his hand, Grantaire bows his head slightly, a show of smiling modesty. "Perhaps I have presumed to far in daring to touch such hallowed skin. You must pardon me, blessed lady; a mere mortal, I am fueled by wretched impulse and blinded by your unearthly light."

Raising his head just slightly, Grantaire once again looks over the girl. Still, she seems almost too beauteous to exist, displaying all the surprised energy of untested experience.

On which thought, he ventures a further remark. "As for your very human needs... I feel certain we may find ways of satisfying these."

[irma_boissy]

And congratulations. You, my dear fellow, have managed to render her completely and absolutely speechless.
Aside from a very small, almost imperceptible gasp, all what she wants to say, all the words that are suddenly making a big ball in her throat. (And in equal parts ask how, say yes, and want to slap him for his "insolence")
The colour that had seemed to go away from her cheeks comes again in full force as the realization dawns on her. Oh God, how lovely it would be, wouldn't it? To be in his arms and... And...
No, she shouldn't think about it. Not yet. And she is sure that he thinks her an idiot right now.

[fitofgrandair]

Grantaire doesn't know what to make of the fact that he can venture so far without eliciting rebuke (though there is something of it in her eyes and in the gasp that earns a grin of his own), save that this girl has an uncommon tolerance for his effrontery. Or that she is somehow drawn by it; the notion is an odd but certainly not impossible one. Nothing is impossible among the whims of men and women... Though by all typical measures, he has surely pushed too far.

Time for a gesture. Lowering himself to one knee, he takes her hand, gazing up in half-feigned penitence. "You see what I mean, Mademoiselle Boissy? Impulse drives me to speak too far, bringing words to light that ought to remain veiled among polite company, and certainly among such recent acquaintances. It is only that something in your being resonates so deeply, as if sounding chords for which I have lifelong sought, as if I have long yearned to hear the call of this very essence.

"I am a rude creature, and while I can scarcely dare hope that you will forgive me, I must ask that you think not too harsh of me, nor harden yourself against my too ardent pleas!"

[irma_boissy]

That does prompt her to lean forward and put a hand on his shoulder. And finally also, to speak.

"There's nothing to forgive, Monsieur Grantaire." she says, with the most reassuring expression she can muster (there's even a small smile) " So please, stand up"

Those aren't many words, but he should give her time. There's much to say, even though she shouldn't and even though she thinks he imagines at least part of it already. She was surprised because she is very unexperienced in those matters, but there's something in her that tells her... Well, better not tell.

[fitofgrandair]

Taking her prompt, he rises, though he doesn't yet release her hand. "Once again, my lady proves her surpassing kindness. Truly, I must count myself among the blessed."

He adds nothing more, allowing the words and his obvious fondness space for resonance, allowing her to make a move of her own, if she can collect herself so far.

[irma_boissy]

Irma rarely acted on impulse (that was for the twins), but was a woman who lived by the phrase Actions speak louder than words . That was the very same path of thought that made her take work as a boot-embroiderer to support her family.

One very member of it, the one who wasn't there anymore, her father, comes back to her mind, reciting Shakespeare again as he used to do: Speak, cousin, or stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak neither.

Maybe it's not that bad of an idea. But first she should speak, nonetheless.

"Then, would my blessed mind if I ask him for a favour?"

[fitofgrandair]

'My blessed'... How quickly she had picked it up! How flawlessly she employed the phrase! Flustered though she is, the girl knows how to regain her footing, and his smile broadens at her words, at her felicity for playing along.

Whatever is to come - and he could be mistaken, but Grantaire suspects that it will not be utter rejection - she is at least continuing to color this pursuit most wonderfully.

"Anything, ah, anything; please do! Speak! Command."

[irma_boissy]

"Close your eyes first" she says, a mischievous smile starting to form on her lips. "Then I shall ask for the rest."

It was certainly necessary. And her very own way to continue, and not leave (even though a part of her cries don't do it she does not pay attention).
And in a certain way, her very own way to ensure he won't.

[fitofgrandair]

"As you will, dear lady."

There is nothing to do save submit, and Grantaire shuts his eyes, amusement still written across his expression. He has his expectations, of course, and cannot think her practiced enough to have some other trick in mind. It is nevertheless a pleasure to hear the coyness in her voice and to offer himself as such to her mercy; predictable as it may be, the scenario is to be relished through the earnestness of her own actions.

[irma_boissy]

Approaching him, she whispers to his ear.
"Come look for me in this very same place tomorrow in the early evening." she says, a hint of a promise in her lips and words. Her very own way of saying yes to those proposals. Saying yes to being his.
Before he can say anything, she kisses him. According to her it's not as chaste as the first kiss, but it tastes even sweeter, thinking about what is to come,

[fitofgrandair]

Lovely girl; she has managed to surprise him, making of the anticipated (but no less welcome) gesture a greater promise, an acceptance - so it seems - and a smiling sign of more to come. He knows how to read such signals, grasps the invitation in this talk of tomorrow, and understands that a kiss in lieu of the slap he almost certainly deserved is the surest sign of welcome. She may play it coy if she likes, but Mademoiselle Boissy has bound herself to him. And though it is destined to be a brief affair, for the moment it stands steadfast.

The kiss is bold, if unpracticed, her lips sweeter for their inexperience. "Doubt not that I will be here, rooted to the spot, your servant waiting for your call.

"Indeed, 'doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt' that I remain, and that you, Irma Boissy, now hold captive my senses, my reason, my wish."

And it is little enough time to wait. A day and a half... What cost is that to achieve such sweet reward? For a girl who so persistently betters his expectations, Grantaire is willing to play with patience.

[irma_boissy]

It fills her with a joy she is barely able to contain. (after all, in the end, she is someone who knows little of the world.) He understands what she means, he actually... he 's going to come for her tomorrow and...and...
She's about to reach and give him a goodbye kiss, when a question, not from her or him, but of two voices that are awfully familiar, interrupts her.
"Irma??"

[fitofgrandair]

It's a shame to see her interrupted, and a greater shame still to realize that the interruption is directed at the girl. She has been singled out, she has been recognized, and a dim alarm of potential warning urges him to take care. Meeting anyone associated with an object of brief dalliance can add excess ties that may make breaking off more of an ungraceful struggle.

This, then, might be about the time to take his exit, though he'll hold his ground for the moment and take measure of the scene. Glancing periodically at the approaching figures - male, which could mean several things (none of them especially hopeful), and dimly familiar, though he can't yet place them - he favors Irma with an expression of mock despair, colored by the hint of a more genuine smirk. "It appears my lady is popular. Ought I to be jealous? Are there rivals I must needs fend off?"

[irma_boissy]

"Not rivals." she says, partly amused, partly distressed "Brothers."
Though they don't seem angry. More like... Surprised. And terribly amused by the whole scene.
As they stop in front of them, Irma has no option but to say.
"Monsieur Grantaire, these are my brothers René and Martin"

[lesgemeauxboissy]

And with a very proper and graceful manner, they bow towards the couple, though Martin adds:
"What a surprise, dear sister."
And René:
"And a small world indeed, Monsieur Grantaire."

[fitofgrandair]

Grantaire manages to keep from blenching or otherwise revealing his unease. Brothers. Of course. He ought to have suspected when she'd already made mention of them, but had preferred to ignore the signs.

And now, here they are. Wondrous. Family is always best avoided, and to make matters more complicated, he has seen these boys before; the greeting confirms his suspicion, though he still cannot quite recall the encounter. Encounters? René. Martin. They could...

Ah. Ah.

The names. The faces. It had been at the Cafe, and they had spoken for a time; rather, the twins (and how could he have forgotten twins? how could he not have made some connection?) had largely listened while he spoke. They'd shared a bottle. And god knows what had been spoken. Beyond that... He may have seen them elsewhere, or at a distance in the Cafe.

Well. There isn't any way to duck out now without raising an alarm. Linger, play along, and he might be able to keep the situation under something like control. Because a bit of chaos, while well and good, is liable to prematurely destroy this dalliance with Mademoiselle Boissy.

Nodding to one boy and then the other, Grantaire smiles. "So my limited experience reveals, time and time again. Mademoiselle Boissy, I have heard you speak well of your family, but I hadn't realized that these particular paragons." There is enough of a smirk to suggest that he recognizes his exaggeration, enough warmth to suggest that the sentiment expressed is not entirely untrue.

[irma_boissy]

Suddenly Irma feels strangely confused by all what is happening. And uneasy (sending her brothers a look that says You two should not be here, what are you doing here). She only hopes that her brothers don't ask for any further explanation from her.

"So... I take you knew my brothers already, Monsieur Grantaire?"

[lesgemeauxboissy]

René and Martin on the other hand are terribily amused. Their sister knows the Grand R, and if they are not wrong it looks like it is more than a mere acquaintance. (Did you actually kiss him or are our minds deceiving us? Both their looks ask).

"He does." Martin replies.
"Even though it only was a brief encounter. But we shared a bottle of wine." René adds.

[fitofgrandair]

"A magnanimous gesture, and one that has not been forgotten." Not entirely, not far enough. Why they should have remembered, Grantaire can't imagine; when had that even been? And those glances the boys continue to exchange-- It is of course impossible to know their exact meaning, but the slyness, the questioning delight point toward suppositions.

And, oh, if this family talks...

Well. He'll need to take it for what it is. The recognition of her family need not mean much; it wouldn't be the first time his name has been shared as such. And the situation is humorous, in a way. If he weren't in the middle of it, Grantaire would doubtless be making mock in earnest.

Instead, he takes Irma's hand, keeping his eyes on her as he continues to speak. They've an inkling; why not offer further evidence? "Indeed, the very fact that they deigned to speak with such a wreck as I showed wondrous kindness; a trait that shines stronger still in their sister. There is nothing more valuable than the company of another."

[irma_boissy]

It shouldn't be like this. If you tell Mother or Helène I will kill you two.
Of course she would have told them. But when it was appropriate. And it wasn't now. These first moments with Monsieur Grantaire should have been for her and her alone.
But still, she smiles back at him, a small hint of nervousness creeping towards the happiness she feels when she's with him.
"I am sure that my brothers would agree that far from kindness moving them, they found you a most interesting companion for their evening."
So does she, for the two times they've met.
She also happens to know that the reason they chose to speak with him was because they've always been great admirers of les Amis of the ABC, and they thought of it as an opportunity. Not that she's going to tell it.

[lesgemeauxboissy]

The twins look back at her with looks that vary from total innocence to OH SHIT NO DON'T TELL HIM WE WILL NOT TELL THEM and back to total innocence.

"And we weren't wrong." Martin adds "You proved to be most interesting."
"To us most unexperienced alumni of life."

They barely disguise their surprise (at least in the eyes of their sister) at the gesture, which prompts them to exclaim in unison:
"Ah, so those flowers were from you, Monsieur!"

[fitofgrandair]

"Here I must stand silent, for such a remark - ought I to say 'accusation'? - may only rightfully be met by the lady who has received the flowers. If, indeed, there were flowers to be found."

He squeezes Irma's hand just slightly, his expression partly knowing, partly tending toward something that might appear as bashfulness. Playing before a family requires especially careful adherence to the role at hand. Whether the boys believe it or not...

That much may depend partly on what they have heard and chosen to credit. If they had spent enough time around the Cafe, they may have heard much to weigh against this... Or they may even, more absurdly, have heard that he is the most devoted of lovers. Then again, they may have heard that he is a man of much solitude, not easily turned by a pretty face. At times, the inconsistency of rumor can prove a blessing.

[irma_boissy]

"I am afraid my brothers are not in need of me meeting their remark." she says in a joking tone "They are quite clever, you see."

She hopes that they are clever enough to understand that they should be going away right now. Still, she smiles most adoringly towards Grantaire. If they see, it doesn't matter. They will not tell as she will not tell of other things.

And if they have to talk, it will be tonight.

"Still, it was the most lovely present I've ever received"

[lesgemeauxboissy]

Martin nudges René slightly with the elbow and they both smile a little, amused smile. Their sister, with Monsieur Grantaire. This could open many good prospects for the family (specially for them, what with their aspirations of becoming members of Les Amis). But then, there was the problem of what they have heard of him.
With a very small nod, they decide they will keep an eye on the two. And God help him if he ever harms their sister.
"Quite original indeed." René says
"Even though our darling Mother didn't happen to think the same." Martin adds "If it weren't for our dear Irma, she almost throws them away."

[fitofgrandair]

"I am gratified to hear that my lady stood her ground and preserved my poor offering in the face of adversity. It appears I must add courage to the count of your virtues."

The conversation is proceeding smoothly enough, but Grantaire is beginning to feel the tug of edginess. Irma seems to have a close rein on her brothers and their questions, but isn't isn't especially keen on undergoing further examination. It is best not to risk giving too much away or becoming overly familiar with any family members.

There is a simple enough route to slipping away from the encounter.

Taking both of Irma's hands in his own, he offers a smile that quickly becomes apologetic. "I am a fortunate man, indeed, but am also a man bound to perform his role in the world. You must forgive me, Irma; I must take my leave from you. The studio calls, and from time to time, I find it advisable to heed the cry... Though I will no doubt be distracted, my thoughts lingering with the lady who gives such pleasure."

After kissing her hand, Grantaire releases her, moving before he can be delayed. "I will think of nothing save tomorrow.

"And it was a pleasure meeting your clever brothers - I should say 'meeting your brothers on new terms.' Adieu, gentlemen. Au revoir, Mademoiselle."

With a quick bow, he takes his exit.