THE ARTILLERY SETS TO WORK IN EARNEST.
Gavroche was surrounded, but he had no time to report anything, as
Marius, shuddering, drew him on one side.
"What have you come to do here?"
"What a question?" the boy said; "and you, pray?"
And he gazed fixedly at Marius with his epic effrontery: his eyes were
dilated by the proud brightness which they contained. It was with a
stern accent that Marius continued,--
"Who told you to return? I only trust that you have delivered my letter
at its address."
Gavroche felt some degree of remorse in the matter of the letter; for,
in his hurry to return to the barricade, he had got rid of it rather
than delivered it. He was forced to confess to himself that he had
confided somewhat too lightly in this stranger, whose face he had not
even been able to distinguish. It is true that this man was bareheaded,
but that was not enough. In short, he reproached himself quietly for
his conduct, and feared Marius's reproaches. He took the simplest
process to get out of the scrape,--he told an abominable falsehood.
"Citizen, I delivered the letter to the porter. The lady was asleep,
and she will have the letter when she wakes."
Marius had two objects in sending the letter,--to bid Cosette farewell
and save Gavroche. He was obliged to satisfy himself with one half of
what he wanted. The connection between the Bending of the letter and M.
Fauchelevent's presence at the barricade occurred to his mind, and he
pointed him out to Gavroche.
"Do you know that man?"
"No," said Gavroche.
Gavroche, in truth, as we know, had only seen Jean Valjean by night.
The troubled and sickly conjectures formed in Marius's mind were
dissipated. Did he know M. Fauchelevent's opinions? Perhaps he was a
republican; hence his presence in the action would be perfectly simple.
In the mean while Gavroche had run to the other end of the barricade,
crying, "My gun!" and Courfeyrac ordered it to be given to him.
Gavroche warned "his comrades," as he called them, that the barricade
was invested, and he had found great difficulty in reaching it. A
battalion of the line, with their arms piled in the Little Truanderie,
was observing on the side of the Rue du Petit Cygne; on the opposite
side the Municipal Guard occupied the Rue des Prêcheurs; while in front
of them they had the main body of the army. This information given,
Gavroche added,--
"I authorize you to give them a famous pill."
Enjolras was in the mean while watching at his loop-hole with open
ears; for the assailants, doubtless little satisfied with the
gun-shot, had not repeated it. A company of line infantry had come up
to occupy the extremity of the street behind the gun. The soldiers
unpaved the street, and erected with the stones a small low wall,
a species of epaulement, only eighteen inches high, and facing the
barricade. At the left-hand angle of this work could be seen the head
of a suburban column, massed in the Rue St. Denis. Enjolras, from his
post, fancied he could hear the peculiar sound produced by canister
when taken out of its box, and he saw the captain of the gun change his
aim and turn the gun's muzzle slightly to the left. Then the gunners
began loading, and the captain of the gun himself took the port-fire
and walked up to the vent.
"Fall on your knees all along the barricade," Enjolras shouted.
The insurgents, scattered in front of the wine-shop, and who had
left their posts on Gavroche's arrival, rushed pell-mell toward the
barricade; but ere Enjolras's order was executed, the discharge took
place with the frightful rattle of a round of grape-shot; it was
one, in fact. The shot was aimed at the opening in the redoubt, and
ricochetted against the wall, killing two men and wounding three. If
this continued, the barricade would be no longer tenable, for the
grape-shot entered it. There was a murmur of consternation.
"Let us stop a second round," Enjolras said: and levelling his
carbine he aimed at the captain of the gun, who was leaning over the
breech and rectifying the aim. He was a handsome young sergeant of
artillery, fair, gentle-faced, and having the intelligent look peculiar
to that predestined and formidable arm which, owing to its constant
improvement, must end by killing war. Combeferre, who was standing by
Enjolras's side, gazed at this young man.
"What a pity!" said Combeferre. "What a hideous thing such butchery is!
Well, when there are no kings left there will be no war. Enjolras, you
aim at that sergeant, but do not notice him. Just reflect that he is a
handsome young man; he is intrepid. You can see that he is a thinker,
and these young artillerymen are well educated; he has a father,
mother, and family; he is probably in love; he is but twenty-five years
of age at the most, and might be your brother."
"He is so," said Enjolras.
"Yes," Combeferre added, "and mine too. Do not kill him."
"Let me alone. It must be."
And a tear slowly coursed down Enjolras's marble cheek. At the same
time he pulled the trigger and the fire flashed forth. The artilleryman
turned twice on his heel, with his arms stretched out before him, and
his head raised as if to breathe the air, and then fell across the
cannon motionless. His back could be seen, from the middle of which a
jet of blood gushed forth; the bullet had gone right through his chest,
and he was dead. It was necessary to bear him away and fill up his
place, and thus a few minutes were gained.