"A spy..."The reality was hard for Enjolras, who had personally shot an imposter among the insurgents, had ordered that Javert, caught spying, be taken prisoner to be judged by the republic, or to be shot should the barricade fall. The condemnation had felt right then; it had BEEN right. Any who would turn their back in such a low down, despicable way as that, deserved judgement for their crimes. Judgment had not specifically meant death at the time, and he had intended to hold Javert until the end, save for the old volunteer who had requested that he settle the man's fate.

He'd agreed to that, and Javert had presumably been dealt with, and...Enjolras was not sure how he'd felt about it, then. He'd been grieving the loss of Jean Prouvaire, running on little sleep, and now found himself second guessing the decision there. If a woman had been the spy, if a child...would he have done the same? Would his condemnation have offered the same fate to either one of those? The truth was that he was unsure. Even now, he despised spies in theory, held them as the lowest of the very low, and had a certain picture in his mind.

Midii did disrupt his image of the spy, being less the sort who crawled upon the ground, and more of the gamine who did what was necessary to survive. When he turned to her, his expression was a little blank, as he tried to keep things in check without turning into the rage monster nobody needed. He'd made his mistakes as well. He'd killed, broken the ties between himself and all humanity. He kept that in mind as he looked to her, and sighed.

"I see." He managed, at last, nodding. There was not much more to say.