Combeferre had slept poorly the night before, a habit that was becoming terribly common. Though grateful for the bed at the inn, it was small, and cold, and (most damning of all) empty of the woman he loved. Though relieved to have work still offered to him at the hospital, his days there both exhausted him and left him too troubled to easily embrace slumber. Worse yet, with every day, the feeling that this was a world in which he did not belong grew stronger, and more frightening.

But what could he do? He would adapt. He would find his way in the world.

Though he could not remember when, he must have fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning. And strange, as he slowly drifted into wakefulness, he found himself more comfortable, more content and warm, than he had felt in days.

He opened his eyes, and without warning, Sybil was kissing him.

“Le bon Dieu,” he exhaled against her lips, for the moment so glad to have her there that he did not even ask why. “My darling…"