"I believe," says Joly, "that I have contracted"- he sneezes- "a cold."
Laigle watches his friend from across the room. Joly is known among les Amis as a hypochondriac and catcher of rare diseases, but the current one seems to be both mundane and real.
"You'll be all right to go to the meeting, though?"
"Of course." He gets off his bed and walks around it to get to the door: it is placed at a strange angle due to his beliefs about magnetism, which makes navigation difficult in the small room.
They walk to Musain together. It is cold and wet outside, and the back room of the cafe seems stiflingly humid. They sit at a table with Courfeyrac to plan the distribution of pamphlets in the universities.
The weather makes everyone sluggish: even Enjolras is writing an essay for school rather than for the society. Any outlet in conversation is immediately seized upon.
"We'll have the pamphlets from the printers' by Monday. Where will we distribute them?" says Courfeyrac.
"We could give them out in the hallways, between classes," suggests Laigle.
"Making sure to avoid the professors, of course," says Joly.
"I had a professor once who left the room immediately after he had finished teaching to patrol the halls," says Laigle reminiscently.
"You had old Dumaire?" asks Courfeyrac.
"He taught my introductory class in litigation. Look what good use I've put it to!"
"He caught me reading a play in one of his classes and made me act out a scene from it." Courfeyrac laughs. "Far more interesting than civil suits."
"What play was it?" Joly leans forward in interest.
"'Le Malade Imaginaire'," Courfeyrac answers seriously. Joly takes this in for a split second before grinning and rolling his eyes. Laigle elbows him in the side as he slouches back.
He coughs, still smiling. "No, really, what was it?"
"'The Streetcorner'. It played at the Ilium not long ago, actually."
"The three of us went to see 'Marianne Lestrade' there last week," says Laigle.
"Splendid play. One of Musichetta's friends wrote it."
"Really? She never told me that!"
"Oh, yes. She's in the same literary circle."
"Is that why she can never go out with you* on Thursdays?" asks Courfeyrac.
*vous
"Just so. It's her reading day." Joly stretches and yawns, then shivers. Laigle draws the pale hair away and presses his lips to his friend's forehead. The skin is hot and dry. "Fridays, of course, are very interesting." It is normal that Laigle should look after Joly when he is sick, just as Joly looks after Laigle when he is broke: nothing to interrupt a perfectly good conversation.
Laigle turns to Courfeyrac, who is watching them with what is barely conscience and almost envy, and is struck by the look: it is an expression that he rarely sees on his friends, and never on Courfeyrac. "Joly's feverish. I'm going to take him home. Can you finish without us?" he asks.
"I can certainly finish planning the distribution of pamphlets in the universities without you; or were you referring to the conversation?"
"Good night, Courfeyrac," says Joly over his shoulder as he leaves the café with Laigle.
They walk back to Joly's flat through the wet streets. The streetlamps and their reflections provide enough light for Laigle to see Joly looking down and painstakingly avoiding the puddles. Laigle steps in every one.
Joly goes to bed as soon as they arrive. He falls asleep quickly, but shakes in fever and the cold of the flat, even unconsciously.
Laigle spreads a coat on the blanket over him, then sits down with a candle and idly reads one of Joly's books without noticing what it is. He keeps looking over at shivering Joly, but there are no more blankets and the flat does not have a fireplace. In desperation, he takes off his shoes and gets into the bed, nervously putting his arms around his friend. After a while, Joly calms.
Laigle wakes up the next morning facing a contentedly sleeping Joly. He curses inwardly: he did not mean to fall asleep; he was going to turn away before Joly could wake up, to face in an opposite direction, as they usually sleep.
Joly's eyelids twitch, and he opens them slowly. He smiles sunnily and, snuggling close to Laigle, murmurs "Good morning, dear Aigle" incoherently into his mouth.
