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"My dear friend! Feuilly, my chosen companion, dearest friend of my bosom..."
Feuilly looked up from his newspaper to see Bahorel in front of him, grinning widely in a way that generally preceded some fresh kind of madness. Feuilly turned back to his paper. He only had a very short break and he would not use it to divine Bahorel’s unexplainable expressions when he could use it to get the latest news of his brothers in Lyon. Or rather, what certain parties wanted everyone to think was the news. He sincerely doubted his brothers were as free in their praise of the King as the paper reported.
"Feuilly, brother and friend to us all," continued Bahorel.
"What is it that you want, Bahorel?" asked Feuilly mildly, turning a page.
"Feuilly my dear man, how old are you?"
"Too old for your nonsense," replied Feuilly and went back inside the atelier, only to be kept from his paper by the smiling questions of the ladies of the atelier. They were very interested in what they described as “M’sieur Feuilly’s dashing friend”. Their speculations on the identity of this mystery man nearly made up for the smudging of a design and a broken brush.
When the day was done, he found Courfeyrac and Joly waiting outside, excitement barely hidden behind their extravagant cravats. He received a greeting kiss on the cheek from both men, as well as prolonged hugs that melted away some of the day's frustrations.
"Will you dine with us? We have much to tell you." They chorused with enough enthusiasm Feuilly could happily resign himself to having his dinner bought for him.
They sat down at a nearby café, having been lured in by the pleasant aroma of good cooking. It was no false lure, the soup when it arrived was thick and hearty and smelled fantastic.
"What news, my friends?" Feuilly asked once the first hunger was stilled.
"Well, to start with, Bahorel actually visited the law school today " said Joly with wide eyes, "and he learned something, something so remarkable he left that accursed place and rushed to tells us the news."
“That explains why he felt the need to interrupt my lunch,” said Feuilly with a smile, “though he forgot to actually explain what was going on.”
Courfeyrac grabbed his arm in excitement. “So we get to tell you first? Ha! The others will be so disappointed.” He laughed happily, drawing admiring looks from the grisettes sitting at the table next to them. The ladies had been looking at them from the moment they came into the café. Feuilly sincerely hoped it wasn’t because they were friends of his neighbours. Marie-Hélène was forever introducing him to other seamstresses, but the didn’t think he’d been introduced to these ladies. And yet they kept staring. He nodded to them, just in case, and they quickly looked away. One of them seemed to blush, so perhaps he did not know them after all. He hoped he hadn’t embarrassed her.
“Not that we can actually act on this information,” pouted Joly. Feuilly started. He had lost the thread of the conversation for just a moment and now he wasn’t certain whether he had missed something important.
Before he could ask his companions to repeat themselves, a shadow fell over Feuilly’s plate. He looked up to see Enjolras blocking out his light. His hair turned into a halo from the lamplight shining through his hair. Only after getting over the admiration of his general beauty could one notice that he was still wearing his paper cap and that a smudge of ink had taken up residence on his cheek.
"Citizen,” he intoned gravely, even as he gracefully allowed Courfeyrac and Joly to embrace him in turn. Feuilly made to stand and properly greet him too, but was stopped by Enjolras’ hand on his shoulder.
“No, do not stand, my friend. You who work so hard, labouring for life and liberty. I cannot repay you for all you’ve done and will do for us..”
Feuilly stood up and gave him a hug anyway.
“When I think of you it fills me with such hope. The love you carry for France, your ability to speak so eloquently on the fate of nations, it fills me with such admiration. The fact that I cannot repay you by virtue –or rather— sin of birth is an injustice unmentionable.”
A lot of emotions were being displayed on that statuesque face, but Feuilly could not make out any of them clearly, except general tragic outrage. Generally Enjolras was not quite so hard to understand, nor half so cryptical when not making speeches. In general, Joly would not be hiding his giggles behind his cane when Enjolras spoke of tragic matters either.
“My friend, how long has it been since you have slept a full night through?”
Feuilly tried to replicate the stern expression his neighbour Mme Simone used whenever she suspected he had not eaten a full dinner. Enjolras’ muttered excuses were answer enough. Feuilly finished the last of his soup and pushed the bread in Enjolras’ hand. He took his leave of Courfeyrac and Joly while Enjolras managed to petulantly chew bread. Enjolras tried to protest the need to walk him to his lodgings, but Feuilly reminded him of the promise to lend him a book, which was reason enough for Enjolras to allow the escort.
They talked of the situation in Lyon until they were suddenly broken out of their conversation by Bahorel.
“Feuilly my friend, save me! Some vile attacker is attempting to murder me!”
Feuilly privately thought Enjolras might be a better bet against a violent attacker. He had also never known Bahorel to need, or want, help fighting a single man. He looked around, ignoring Bahorel dramatically clutching his coat. Enjolras did not seem surprised by this situation. The street they were walking was not the best area, but not quite dangerous enough to be so unsurprised by a violent attack to a friend. Around the corner came a dark clad figure. A moment’s inspection revealed it was Jehan Prouvaire in some fantastical version of a highwayman’s costume. The black shawl drawn over his face did not conceal his identity quite so well as Bahorel and Jehan imagined, Feuilly assumed.
Feuilly gently removed Bahorel’s hands from his coat and patted them consolingly.
“If sweet Prouvaire has found reason to kill you,” he said with a smile, “I'm sure you deserve it."
With that, he took up Enjolras’ arm again and walked off without looking back at Bahorel’s rather loud indignance.
Feuilly declined Enjolras’ invitation to stay at his lodgings and turned towards home, borrowed books under his arm. He still had a full candle, so he hoped to spend the rest of the evening reading. Before he arrived at his building, someone bumped into him violently enough to make him drop his books on the other man’s toes. It was L’Aigle, looking mildly the worse for wear, but smiling brightly.
“Feuilly, the man of the day!” said Bossuet cheerfully as he handed Feuilly the thankfully unharmed books back.
“Lesgles, my dear friend. I would be very grateful if you could explain to me what exactly is going on. Every single one of you I met today has been strange towards me and no one actually explained and I’m afraid I’m getting rather frustrated. Enjolras came to apologise for some slight, Courfeyrac and Joly seem by turns giddy and upset by something and Bahorel is even more unknowable than usual. What is going on?”
Feuilly took a deep breath and calmed himself. Bossuet leaned gracefully against the wall, patiently waiting for Feuilly to be done.
"Ah yes that,” he said with an ironic smile once he saw Feuilly had mastered himself again, “I see how that might have been puzzling to you. Let me tell you the story. It all started when Bahorel found himself unaccountably in the lawschool. As punishment for this flat transgression he actually learned something about the Code Civil. Of course, it was a punishment for him to attend, but now it seems it is a penalty you now have to pay, since he learned something very surprising. Apparently, and do not ask me, I have not been to that accursed place in ages, there is an option for adoption of the brave hero who saved you from peril. As long as this hero is your junior and you yourself are childless. The latter a feat we have all managed, but the first rather uncertain.”
"Who wants to adopt whom?” Feuilly broke in. “And why is this of such importance? We are hardly in the position to be meeting life threatening events left and right… I doubt Bahorel’s brawls qualify."
Bossuet patted him on the arm kindly. "It was your age that was drawn in question, my friend. It seems a large number of our friends thoughtfully wanted to provide you with an extended family. However, I believe Bahorel won that race, being older than any of us and therefore more likely to be older than you, my dear Feuilly. When I last saw him he was plotting how to engineer a likely rescue."
Feuilly sat down on the ground abruptly. This wanted careful thinking about. All that left him however, was wild, heedless laughter.
At the meeting the next evening, Feuilly stood and made a very earnest speech that if he could he would adopt all the amis as his brothers, that he counted them as family by choice if not by law , but that he'd prefer to claim Patria as his sole parent.
It was very moving. When he finished, Enjolras had tears in his eyes. Bahorel still called Feuilly his son for an entire fortnight.
French Civil Code
BOOK I. Of Persons.
Decreed 25th of March, 1803. Promulgated the 2d of April.
TITLE VIII.
Of Adoption and Friendly Guardianship.
CHAPTER I.
Of Adoption.
SECTION I.
The faculty of adoption shall not be exercised except towards an individual, for whom, during minority, and for a period of at least six years, the party shall have supplied assistance, arid employed uninterrupted care, or towards one who shall have saved the life of the party adopting, either in a fight, or in rescuing him from fire or water.
It shall suffice, in this latter case, that the adopter have attained majority, be older than the adopted, without children, or lawful descendants, and if married, that his conjunct consent to the adoption.