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Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Jean Prouvaire, Combeferre, Joly, Bahorel, Bossuet, and all the rest ran tumultuously from the wine-shop. It was almost too late. They saw a glistening density of bayonets undulating above the barricade.
All these young, maniacal, puny, merry incoherences lived in harmony together, and the result was an eccentric and agreeable being whom his comrades, who were prodigal of winged consonants, called Jolllly. "You may fly away on the four L's," Jean Prouvaire said to him. Joly had a trick of touching his nose with the tip of his cane, which is an indication of a sagacious mind.
Therese gave birth to them, Jean-Jacques represented them as foundlings." And Enjolras addressed Courfeyrac roughly: "Silence in the presence of Jean-Jacques! I admire that man. He denied his own children, that may be; but he adopted the people." Not one of these young men articulated the word: The Emperor. Jean Prouvaire alone sometimes said Napoleon; all the others said "Bonaparte."
As for the three poor creatures who inhabited Corinthe, no one knew what had become of them. They were finally found, however, hidden in the cellar. A poignant emotion clouded the joy of the disencumbered barricade. The roll was called. One of the insurgents was missing. And who was it? One of the dearest. One of the most valiant. Jean Prouvaire. He was sought among the wounded, he was not there.
He was sought among the dead, he was not there. He was evidently a prisoner. Combeferre said to Enjolras: "They have our friend; we have their agent. Are you set on the death of that spy?" "Yes," replied Enjolras; "but less so than on the life of Jean Prouvaire." This took place in the tap-room near Javert's post.
A platoon of the National Guard would constitute itself on its own authority a private council of war, and judge and execute a captured insurgent in five minutes. It was an improvisation of this sort that had slain Jean Prouvaire. Fierce Lynch law, with which no one party had any right to reproach the rest, for it has been applied by the Republic in America, as well as by the monarchy in Europe.
They recognized the voice of Prouvaire. A flash passed, a report rang out. Silence fell again. "They have killed him," exclaimed Combeferre. Enjolras glanced at Javert, and said to him: "Your friends have just shot you."
In the meantime, in the Marche Saint-Jean, where the post had already been disarmed, Gavroche had just "effected a junction" with a band led by Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Feuilly. They were armed after a fashion. Bahorel and Jean Prouvaire had found them and swelled the group.
He turned round and saw in the Rue Saint-Denis, at the end of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, Enjolras passing, gun in hand, and Gavroche with his pistol, Feuilly with his sword, Courfeyrac with his sword, and Jean Prouvaire with his blunderbuss, Combeferre with his gun, Bahorel with his gun, and the whole armed and stormy rabble which was following them.
For his part, he thought the barricade ripe, and as that which is ripe ought to fall, he made the attempt. He commanded men as resolute as himself, "raging fellows," as a witness said. His company, the same which had shot Jean Prouvaire the poet, was the first of the battalion posted at the angle of the street.
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