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Marius, still fighting, was so riddled with wounds, particularly in the head, that his countenance disappeared beneath the blood, and one would have said that his face was covered with a red kerchief. Enjolras alone was not struck. When he had no longer any weapon, he reached out his hands to right and left and an insurgent thrust some arm or other into his fist.
Fancy, he is a charming young man; he is intrepid; it is evident that he is thoughtful; those young artillery-men are very well educated; he has a father, a mother, a family; he is probably in love; he is not more than five and twenty at the most; he might be your brother." "He is," said Enjolras. "Yes," replied Combeferre, "he is mine too. Well, let us not kill him." "Let me alone.
Outside, the clatter of the ramrods in the guns could be heard; the troops were re-loading their arms. Enjolras went on: "Who is there here with a bold heart? Who will plant the flag on the barricade again?" Not a man responded. To mount on the barricade at the very moment when, without any doubt, it was again the object of their aim, was simply death.
Enjolras held in his outstretched hands the four uniforms which he had laid aside. Combeferre followed, carrying the shoulder-belts and the shakos. "With this uniform," said Enjolras, "you can mingle with the ranks and escape; here is enough for four." And he flung on the ground, deprived of its pavement, the four uniforms. No wavering took place in his stoical audience. Combeferre took the word.
The two barricades being finished, and the flag run up, a table was dragged out of the wine-shop; and Courfeyrac mounted on the table. Enjolras brought the square coffer, and Courfeyrac opened it. This coffer was filled with cartridges. When the mob saw the cartridges, a tremor ran through the bravest, and a momentary silence ensued. Courfeyrac distributed them with a smile.
He had no arms, and he made great haste, so that he might not be left behind, although he had a thoughtful air. Gavroche caught sight of him: "Keksekca?" said he to Courfeyrac. "He's an old duffer." It was M. Mabeuf. Let us recount what had taken place. Enjolras and his friends had been on the Boulevard Bourdon, near the public storehouses, at the moment when the dragoons had made their charge.
A National Guardsman who had taken aim at Enjolras, lowered his gun, saying: "It seems to me that I am about to shoot a flower." Twelve men formed into a squad in the corner opposite Enjolras, and silently made ready their guns. Then a sergeant shouted: "Take aim!" An officer intervened. "Wait." And addressing Enjolras: "Do you wish to have your eyes bandaged?" "No."
He went out, and five minutes later he returned. He had gone home to put on a Robespierre waistcoat. "Red," said he as he entered, and he looked intently at Enjolras. Then, with the palm of his energetic hand, he laid the two scarlet points of the waistcoat across his breast. And stepping up to Enjolras, he whispered in his ear: "Be easy." He jammed his hat on resolutely and departed.
Marius, however, having rallied his ideas to some extent, did not consider himself beaten; there lingered in him a trace of inward fermentation which was on the point, no doubt, of translating itself into syllogisms arrayed against Enjolras, when all of a sudden, they heard some one singing on the stairs as he went. It was Combeferre, and this is what he was singing:
Beneath the apparent similarities of the exterior mind, the difference between him and Tholomyes was very great. The latent man which existed in the two was totally different in the first from what it was in the second. There was in Tholomyes a district attorney, and in Courfeyrac a paladin. Enjolras was the chief, Combeferre was the guide, Courfeyrac was the centre.
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