Enjolras sat down opposite her, adjusting his jacket slightly before resting his arms on the table and looking carefully at her. “It is both we should pity; the flower for all it had never known, and its beauty forgotten or ignored.. but also man, for he killed the very item he sought to protect. His blood shall water the flowers when he fights, and the iris will grow.”
"Fights monsieur?" they lady raised a brow encouraging an explanation. This was not out of any surprise at the topic, but rather it was obvious they both knew the latter was not talking about flowers, and the transition would be made. A topic hardly spoken of in her bourgeoisie home, but that she kept in her pocket at all times.
She pursed her lips regretfully that the cafe supplied no vase for the bouquet, and stood them tall against the wall’s corner.