Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes,
Venite, venite in Bethlehem.
Natum videte Regem angelorum.
Venite adoremus
Venite adoremus
Venite adoremus
Dominum.

"It's better in English."

Combeferre turns to Jehan. "In English?"

He shrugs, putting down his flute. "Well, one verse is."

"Which?"

"The third. In the original Latin it's Cantet nunc 'Io', chorus angelorum;Cantet nunc aula caelestium. Practically the same thing twice—in English, it's a subtle change."

He sings.

Sing, choirs of angels; sing in exultation
Sing, all you citizens of heaven above.

"See?" he asks, after translating it roughly into French. "It's two different things entirely. 'Citizens of heaven,' that's not just angels; that's mankind. 'But our citizenship is in heaven'—that's Saint Paul, book of Philippians…not subjects, citizens. The angels are servants. But people, we're citizens."

"Citizens of heaven," repeats Enjolras, meditatively.

"But how does that fit," questions Combeferre, "with all the imagery of God as King?"

"There's no contradiction," Jehan explains rapturously, "because he's God. The reason we need democratic government on earth is because no man is, in his nature, greater than another. Created equal, thus fallen equal. God is not our equal by nature, wouldn't be God if he were, and is the only one capable of governing the world. Nature must follow his laws—and that's what makes science possible—but we've got a choice. A subject or a servant has no choice, but a citizen has, and thus the faithful are citizens of heaven, citizens of the realm of light. Those who choose not to be are by default of the realm of darkness."

"Subjects of it," continues Combeferre, "and not citizens."

"Yes."

"For the Dark is a tyrant," Enjolras interjects, though rather to himself, "but the Light is liberation."

"Yes." Jehan smiles wistfully. "For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery…oh citizens of heaven."