Grantaire turns, panting, and is viciously glad to see Tom in pain. "Then it is called!" he hisses, not in the mood any longer for the absurd banter they had been exchanging. He was finished, hurting, angry at himself for his weakness and Tom for his madness. "I hope that hurt of yours brings you low in the next few hours, I hope we do not meet again in the meantime! The best of luck to you between then."

He sneers the words and would execute a bow if he thought it would not compromise his own steadiness and settles for retreat. He waves a hand, the only gesture of farewell he will make before he leaves Tom. To think Grantaire had been so well entertained and charmed by the man when they had first met. To think he should he surprised by the betrayal is the greater shame. Ah well, he had never claimed to not be a damn fool.