"Oh, yes, of course. I expect so. The truth of the matter is, I am easily pleased. I should not complain." He smiled through this half-truth. Combeferre was not precisely lying, for his study surely would fill his time once it began, and until then, the public library would keep him occupied. But that hole in his heart where his friends and his cause had once been, that would not be filled by busy hours.

As the topic shifted to the war, his expression grew serious. His coffee came, and he softly thanked the waitress as he wrapped his hands around the ceramic mug. "I had read something about it," he told her quietly. But he had to wonder how well books stood up to the real thing. He had read of such senseless bloodshed, such overwhelming destruction that he half- disbelieved it, and half feared that the reality had been even worse.

Combeferre shook his head a little. "But forgive me - I do not mean to dwell on such a weighty topic on such a lovely day." A beat. "And when in such good company." He might have said such pretty company, had he been a bolder man.