A/N: This is the follow-up to "Acquaintance With Responsibility". This picks up right after the epilogue of the first story. Many characters from "Acquaintance" as well as from "Les Miserables" itself make a comeback here.

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables, or any of the characters or situations depicted there. However I own these characters: Armand Courfeyrac, Auguste and Thierry Lautrec, the 4 Pontmercy children (Marie-Fantine, Georges, Lucille, and Jean), Pierre Smith, Claudine Renault, and Bernard Renault.

The Unburied Future (I)

October 1848

The last thing that Armand Courfeyrac had expected to get from his interview at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire was a dinner invitation from the Baron Pontmercy himself. Even after he had taken leave of the Pontmercys' house, promising to return two nights later, he still could not quite believe that the past hour or so had happened.

"Yet for all it's worth, it's a chance I cannot miss," Armand thought as he got off an omnibus all the way back in the Latin Quartier. He adjusted his hat over his well-combed brown hair before walking in the direction of the Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau. It was a rather brisk day; Armand could see how the rising wind was giving trouble to some of the ladies who were walking about with their voluminous skirts and extravagant hats. A few times, the breeze almost knocked his hat off or threatened to put his coat in disorder.

At last, he arrived at the door of a small office with the words "Lautrec and Partners" printed on a sign near the window. Armand knocked thrice on the door, which still had a dent in it from the blow of the butt of a musket.

"Back so soon?" a rather stout young man greeted as he opened the door. His coat was open, showing his rather rumpled white waistcoat and barrel-knotted cravat.

"Well, Auguste, I wasn't the only person who had an appointment with the Baron Pontmercy," Armand replied jovially. He took off his hat and dusted it with the palm of his hands. "I have to thank your father for writing that recommendation for me. It made matters a lot less awkward at the beginning most especially."

Auguste Lautrec rolled his eyes knowingly as he walked back to a desk that was situated in a corner of the office. Unlike the rest of the premises, which was set up for a lawyer's purposes, this particular nook was piled high with Latin notes, some books on science, two inkwells, and other paraphernalia belonging to two young students. "That is just a formality. You would have impressed the Baron by your just speaking with him," Auguste said.

"He did ask me to join him and his family for dinner on Wednesday."

"Amazing! You must have made a real impression on him to invite you back."

"I impressed him, but not exactly in the way I hoped I would," Armand thought wryly. He put his hat on top of a stack of books. "It also turns out that the Baron was a friend of my father," he said.

For a moment, Auguste's jaw dropped. "How so?"

"They fought together in an emeute, the one back in 1832," Armand replied. "He also said that my father showed him some kindnesses here and there when he was much younger. Then again, according to my mother, my father was kind to everyone."

"Your father and the Baron were probably students together," Auguste commented. "You should ask him more about the past, about what happened before you were born. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

Armand shrugged. "He himself admitted that there was only so much he knew. Maybe he'll tell me more over dinner."

"Still, it's better than nothing."

"You're right about that," Armand said more lightly. He glanced at the desk, where Auguste had left an essay out to dry. "Still struggling over Latin?"

"I never get those conjugations completely right," Auguste said with distaste. "I was hoping you could look over it before our lessons tomorrow."

"I'll find time to help you there," Armand promised before picking up his hat again and heading to the stairway. "Tell me if you're going out for lunch, Auguste," he called over his shoulder before walking up to his room. The Lautrecs, namely Auguste and his father Thierry, occupied the entire second storey of the small house. The third floor had Armand's room, as well as Monsieur Lautrec the elder's private study.

Armand carefully placed his hat on top of a chest of drawers before sitting down on his bed. The room was quite comfortably furnished: he had a soft bed, a well-polished desk, a smart-looking chest of drawers as well as a tall cabinet for his clothes, three chairs, and a woodstove. However there were some peculiarities to this room: some of the floorboards were loosened in strategic locations, and there was a particularly well-concealed hollow in one of the walls. More than once, Auguste had commented that these little alterations had probably been surreptitiously created by some revolutionary student who, by now was probably living the bourgeoisie life.

"Then again, Auguste was always the cynic," Armand thought as he went to his desk, where a worn-looking box sat half-buried among some books and papers. He extricated this box from the chaos and placed it on his lap as he sat back on the bed. Inside the box was a variety of folded papers, some of them already turning yellow at the edges.

"It was a good thing that Maman rescued so much of my father's things," he told himself. He had gone through these before, but now he intended to examine them with a different purpose in mind. Some of these papers were official documents, such as his father's actual will. These he left untouched as he pulled out the various letters and notes that comprised the rest of the box's contents.

Some of the letters had been written in two hands: one was halting, with a tendency to create ink blots amid rounded letters. The second was more slanted, but the script was a little more ornate, bearing the clear mark of someone who had been taught proper penmanship. Armand knew that this first script belonged to his mother while the second was that of his father. He carefully set aside their correspondence aside, having no wish to be privy to some of their more intimate details.

Still, there was also the matter of the fifty other letters that had been written neither by Paulette Vigny or Maurice de Courfeyrac. None of these other missives had been written by women; Armand thought it unlikely that his mother would have saved any other letters from his father's former mistresses. However what was before him was also just as puzzling: notes filled with code names, cryptic metaphors, and obscure references to places in Paris.

Armand picked up one letter that looked as if it had been rolled up and folded to fit in a small space. The handwriting covering the paper was firm and flowing, but significantly less florid, as if the writer had no time for decoration or even pleasantries.

June 15, 1831

I have just reviewed your equations; they are all very well to my eyes, but I suggest you rewrite them in a form more accessible to the pupils. Nevertheless, we will be meeting about them soon enough.

M. D tells me that you have written out several papers already. I thank you very much for that since it has made our work so much easier. In particular, I am grateful that you have chosen to participate in this undertaking; inasmuch as you and Citoyenne V have been struggling with your affairs, you still freely choose to help us.

I will make it clear now that I shall be spending the summer here in Paris, unless of course some urgent matter requires that I visit our friends again. I had expected to be summoned home upon passing the bar, but it seems as if my father has divined my reasons for wanting to stay a little longer. As usual, he advises that I be cautious with my dealings and focus on my profession.

Do not forget to bring the newest equations as well as your essays on our next meeting.

Regards,

A. E

"Of course I am pretty sure that they were not exactly talking about mathematics!" Armand grinned. He knew a little about such codes; he had encountered some during the days leading up to the eventual overthrow of Louis-Philippe. However it still astonished him to see such things in a friendly note.

The signature, Armand decided, was the most telling thing about the letter. He guessed that this "A. E" was none other than his own godfather, Antoine Enjolras. This man was also just as much an enigma, if not even more, than his own father was. Clearly Armand's father had been very close to this man named Enjolras, and held him in particular high regard. However the correspondence between the two was quite short and straightforward in comparison to some of the more elaborate missives in the box.

"There has to be someone who can tell me more about this," Armand thought as he put away the letter. Surely there had to be at least one other person still living in Paris besides the Baron Pontmercy who was connected in some way to the incident at the Rue de la Chanvrerie.