Finally, one voice from behind Ariel spoke up.
“Enjolras, this is Ariel. She is passionate about the people and your revolution. I told her you would allow her to stay, for tonight, at least.”
It was the voice of the dark-haired man, again, but Ariel didn’t have the time to tell, for she was hanging on to every word to come from this Enjolras’s mouth.
“Thank you, Courfeyrac. Mademoiselle Ariel.” He nodded to her, doing the same action as Jehan did when he met her first but with less passion (though it lead to more avid talk). “You may stay as long as you wish.”
Ariel had to stop herself from curtseying. She simply nodded and said,
“Merci, Monsieur Enjolras. But you must just call me Ariel.”
Now he turned and smiled.
“And so you shall know me as Enjolras.” He had gone to set-up in the corner of the room as Ariel contemplated his name. ‘Enjolras’ could not be. He reminded her more of an Apollo. Anyone perfect in mythology. And yet, his name was perfect. Enjolras was the chief.