[Everything today--from waking up to finding his friends--had been starting to sit on Jehan, make him sick and feel depressed. He knew he'd snap out of it, eventually, like he always did when he started feeling like this. Melancholy was just another emotion, a mood, something he flitted through given enough time. Seeing Combeferre so injured and Enjolras so...extinguished hadn't helped.

And then he spoke to Enjolras. It's easy to see why he could ensnare even Grantaire, when he got going. His passion bleeds over into Jehan, and the poet sits a little straighter on the bench, smiling]

You are right, of course. I knew that before and I know that now. Forgive me, Enjolras, for letting my black mood overtake me, even just for a moment. Today has not been the kindest on anyone--I was being swept up by the confusion and the pain of it all. I am sorry we will not see a free France, but I am not sorry we died for her.