Fine time for me to get writer's block, eh?
The clock was still ticking, the dull clicks fading into white noise inside Combeferre's head. It was the middle of a heated summer night, and Jean Prouvaire was lying ill before him. The doctor had been coming and going, the medicines administered, and now the nearly recovering Prouvaire was sleeping fitfully. Combeferre had volunteered to stay with him during the nights. The soft glow on the low candles reflected off the two ornate candlesticks either side of Prouvaire's bed, making the objects sparkle. The muggy temperature coupled with the heat from the candles made the room positively sweltering, making the young man feel slightly uncomfortable. He grimaced, pulling at his collar and trying to get the air around his neck circulating. His gaze then rested on Prouvaire once more, and his features softened.
As a medical student, Combeferre saw ill people most every day, but somehow it seemed more sympathetic to him when it was someone close to him. He pondered for a while whether or not that was a bad thing, feeling more compassion for a close one that a patient. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. He tried to come to a conclusion, but the heat and late hour prevented him from doing so.
Instead, he thought of the concept of right and of wrong. What classified as each? Was there a determined answer or was is simply in the eye of the beholder? Prouvaire could afford a doctor to treat him for his sickness, many in Paris could not. Was that right? Combeferre didn't think so. Perhaps, he thought, things such as medical care should be given freely to the people, and paid for by the people as a whole. It would put good use to the money made from taxes. Was that wrong, to use the people's money for the people? No, he decided, no, somethings should be a right, not a privilege. How the mind wanders when one is tired, for not too long after debating those values, Combeferre nodded off in his chair, and was awakened by Prouvaire the next morning with a cheerful smile and a declaration of wellness.
At least, Combeferre added as an afterthought to his previous meditation, seeing a friend happy will never be wrong.
In my defense I had writer's block and it's about two in the morning now. (Alright, not technically barricade day over in my timezone any more, but oh well.)
I'm the one to shout "Down with Polignac!"