Niall Lynch would say he's not the fawning type, and that would be a lie. Although he'd been sent to the lecture with a purpose, it went forgotten almost as soon as he laid eyes upon Gabriel Caron. The young man was a foreigner, which made him an odd choice for recruitment, but Niall understood the appeal as soon as Gabriel opened his pretty mouth. Revolutionary sentiment sounded like music when he spilled from his lips. If nothing else, he could persuade a thousand soldiers to die just for him.

And Niall, sighing, almost wished he could be one of them. If only he were a soldier and not a dreamer.

As the crowd dispersed, Niall approached his target with leisurely steps. There was no denying a spell had been cast, but there was no need to be desperate about it. "Bout ye," he greeted Gabriel as he drew a cigarette pack and a lighter from the pocket of his jacket. "Voulez-vous une cigarette?" For an Irishman, Niall's French wasn't terrible, though his Belfast lilt persisted in every language.