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Enjolras, who possessed that quality of a leader, of always doing what he said, attached to this staff the bullet-ridden and bloody coat of the old man's. No repast had been possible. There was neither bread nor meat. The fifty men in the barricade had speedily exhausted the scanty provisions of the wine-shop during the sixteen hours which they had passed there.
He plunged his gaze deep into Enjolras' clear eyes and appeared to grasp the latter's meaning. He smiled with a smile than which nothing more disdainful, more energetic, and more resolute could be seen in the world, and replied with haughty gravity: "I see what it is. Well, yes!" "You are a police spy?" "I am an agent of the authorities." "And your name?" "Javert."
"If it had not been for you, I should have been dead!" began Courfeyrac again. "If it had not been for you, I should have been gobbled up!" added Gavroche. Marius asked: "Where is the chief?" "You are he!" said Enjolras. Marius had had a furnace in his brain all day long; now it was a whirlwind.
They heard the alarm bell of Saint-Merry, which had not been silent for an instant since the night before; a proof that the other barricade, the great one, Jeanne's, still held out. All these hopes were exchanged between the different groups in a sort of gay and formidable whisper which resembled the warlike hum of a hive of bees. Enjolras reappeared.
They set to knocking at that door with the butts of their guns, and with kicks, shouting, calling, entreating, wringing their hands. No one opened. From the little window on the third floor, the head of the dead man gazed down upon them. But Enjolras and Marius, and the seven or eight rallied about them, sprang forward and protected them.
Among the passers-by who had joined the rabble led by Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, there had been a person wearing the jacket of a street porter, which was very threadbare on the shoulders, who gesticulated and vociferated, and who had the look of a drunken savage.
Moreover, he was not much alarmed by the citadels erected against the human mind in every direction, by superstition, despotism, and prejudice. He was one of those who think that science will eventually turn the position. Enjolras was a chief, Combeferre was a guide. One would have liked to fight under the one and to march behind the other.
Enjolras had shouted to the soldiers: "Don't advance!" and as an officer had not obeyed, Enjolras had killed the officer. He was now in the little inner court of the redoubt, with his back planted against the Corinthe building, a sword in one hand, a rifle in the other, holding open the door of the wine-shop which he barred against assailants.
Bossuet will take a little turn in the court and talk with the young law licentiates. I will take charge of the Cougourde myself." "That arranges everything," said Courfeyrac. "No." "What else is there?" "A very important thing." "What is that?" asked Courfeyrac. "The Barriere du Maine," replied Enjolras. Enjolras remained for a moment as though absorbed in reflection, then he resumed:
"Bahorel," observed Enjolras, "you are wrong. You should have let that charge alone, he is not the person with whom we have to deal, you are wasting your wrath to no purpose. Take care of your supply. One does not fire out of the ranks with the soul any more than with a gun." "Each one in his own fashion, Enjolras," retorted Bahorel.
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