He recoiled at the sound. It wasn't pleasant, as the laughter of his friends and even that of their mistresses had been. Rather it was harsh and could barely be called laughter at all. Almost immediately, he straightened his posture, turning back to her with a sort of ingrained courtesy. He hoped she didn't notice.

"I must protest, Mademoiselle Eponine. The only thieves and murderers among us here are those who force us to fight in the Games, and those who do not need to be forced at all. Morals are impossible to maintain under such circumstances and anyone who would hold judge himself for attempting to survive should perhaps reevaluated his indignation." Which was easier said than done, of course. Lady's death had been entirely an accident, but he couldn't help but hold himself responsible all the same. Furthermore, he couldn't imagine purposefully taking a life even now and it was hardly as though his hands were clean. Rather the contrary and Enjolras feared that the face of the man he'd looked in the eye and executed would forever be on his consciousness no matter the necessity of the action.

"But all of that is neither here nor there. This is not for philosophy but rather for practicality. And, if you help me with Argot, I shall help you with English. If you like, of course."