Enjolras had not shown up at meeting. Oh, the others noticed, but then one by one they dismissed it. Maybe he had an examination. Maybe he had had to go home. However, whereas the date slipped the others’ minds, I knew it had not slipped Enjolras’. The 28th, the Tenth of Thermidor; I allowed him his melodrama. After all, how would I be if my idol, my Apollo, the center of my world, was brought up and made to face that sharp blade? So he was out, possibly drinking, though that might have been wishful thinking on my part, definitely mourning. Tenth of Thermidor, the day that Robespierre was guillotined. Even gods can mourn.