Combeferre walks down the path humming some sweet ballad or other. He has a flower tucked in his lapel, and from time to time he looks up at the sky, which is pleasantly sunny for once. He smiles at everything, especially the soft spring breeze.

Jean Valjean stands regarding, ostensibly, a flowerbed, with his hands locked behind his back, lost in thought.

Combeferre nods to the man as he passes. "Bonjour, M'sieur," he says politely, then adds, "Isn't it a gorgeous day?" in an enthusiastic tone of voice.

Jean Valjean glances up swiftly, prepared to be mildly irked, but Combeferre's natural charm is potent, and he ends up smiling a bit instead as he returns the greeting. "It is, at that."

Combeferre opens his arms wide as if to embrace the world. "It's so nice to be able to walk in the park without getting all muddy or snowy. The flowers are lovely. Which is your favorite?" He looks down at the flowerbed. "I think I like the jonquils best. They're like little trumpets heralding spring."

"They are," Jean Valjean agrees after a bemused moment, "quite lovely, yes."

Combeferre nods. "I think it's very interesting that hepatica is named for the shape of its leaves, instead of for its lovely flowers. The Doctrine of Signatures had a lot to do with that, and with pulmonaria. Why would anyone want a plant called Lungwort? It's hardly the sort of thing you'd give to your mistress, now is it?" He grins at Valjean and affects a silly voice. "'Here, darling, I brought you some lungwort!'"

Wonder of wonders, that actually gets a chuckle. "Or toadflax, for that matter."

Combeferre laughs, too, and is relieved. "Heavens, yes. That would earn a slap at the least." He shakes his head. "I wonder why some flowers have such odd names, like your toadflax, or cowslip."