Les miserables (Abridged) - Victor Hugo [363]
Combeferre said to Enjolras:
“They have our friend; we have their officer. Have you set your heart on the death of this spy?”
“Yes,” said Enjolras; “but less than on the life of Jean Prouvaire.”
This passed in the basement-room near Javert’s post.
“Well,” replied Combeferre, “I am going to tie my handkerchief to my cane, and go with a flag of truce to offer to give them their man for ours.”
“Listen,” said Enjolras, laying his hand on Combeferre’s arm.
There was a significant clicking of arms at the end of the street.
They heard a manly voice cry:
“Vive la France! Vive l‘avenir!”
They recognised Prouvaire’s voice.
There was a flash and an explosion.
Silence reigned again.
“They have killed him,” exclaimed Combeferre.
Enjolras looked at Javert and said to him:
“Your friends have just shot you.”
4 (6)
THE AGONY OF DEATH AFTER THE AGONY OF LIFE
A PECULIARITY OF THIS KIND Of war is that the attack on the barricades is almost always made in front, and that in general the assailants abstain from turning the positions, whether it be that they dread ambush, or that they fear to become entangled in the crooked streets. The whole attention of the insurgents therefore was directed to the great barricade, which was evidently the point still threatened, and where the struggle must infallibly recommence. Marius, however, thought of the little barricade and went to it. It was deserted, and was guarded only by the lamp which flickered between the stones. The little Rue Mondétour, moreover, and the branch streets de la Petite Truanderie and du Cygne, were perfectly quiet.
As Marius, the inspection made, was retiring, he heard his name faintly pronounced in the darkness:
“Monsieur Marius!”
He shuddered, for he recognised the voice which had called him two hours before, through the grating in the Rue Plumet.
Only this voice now seemed to be but a breath.
He looked about him and saw nobody.
Marius thought he was deceived, and that it was an illusion added by his mind to the extraordinary realities which were thronging about him. He started to leave the retired recess in which the barricade was situated.
“Monsieur Marius!” repeated the voice.
This time he could not doubt, he had heard distinctly; he looked, and saw nothing.
“At your feet,” said the voice.
He stooped and saw a form in the shadow, which was dragging itself towards him. It was crawling along the pavement. It was this that had spoken to him.
The lamp enabled him to distinguish a smock, a pair of torn trousers of coarse velvet, bare feet, and something which resembled a pool of blood. Marius caught a glimpse of a pale face which rose towards him and said to him:
“You do not know me?”
“No.”
“Eponine.”
Marius bent down quickly. It was indeed that unhappy child. She was dressed as a man.
“How came you here? what are you doing there?”
“I am dying,” said she.
There are words and incidents which rouse beings who are crushed. Marius exclaimed, with a start:
“You are wounded! Wait, I will carry you into the room! They will dress your wounds! Is it serious? how shall I take you up so as not to hurt you? Where are you hurt? Help! my God! But what did you come here for?”
And he tried to pass his arm under her to lift her.
In lifting her he touched her hand.
She uttered a feeble cry.
“Have I hurt you?” asked Marius.
“A little.”
“But I have only touched your hand.”
She raised her hand into Marius’ sight, and Marius saw in the centre of that hand a black hole.
“What is the matter with your hand?” said he.
“It is pierced.”
“Pierced?”
“Yes.”
“By what?”
“By a ball.”
“How?”
“Did you see a musket aimed at you?”
“Yes, and a hand which stopped it.”
“That was mine.”
Marius shuddered.
“What madness! Poor child! But that is not so bad, if that is all, it is nothing, let me carry you to a bed. They will