They recognized Prouvaire's voice; a flash passed and a detonation burst forth; then the silence returned. "They have killed him," Combeferre exclaimed. Enjolras looked at Javert and said to him,-- "Your friends have just shot you." CHAPTER VI. DEATH'S AGONY AFTER LIFE'S AGONY. It is a singularity of this sort of war, that the attack on barricades is almost always made in the front, and that the assailants generally refrain from turning positions, either because they suspect ambuscades, or are afraid to enter winding streets. The whole attention of the insurgents was, consequently, directed to the great barricade, which was evidently the constantly threatened point, and the contest would infallibly recommence there. Marius, however, thought of the little barricade, and went to it; it was deserted, and only guarded by the lamp which flickered among the paving-stones. However, the Mondétour lane and the branches of the Little Truanderie were perfectly calm. As Marius, after making his inspection, was going back, he heard his name faintly uttered in the darkness,-- "Monsieur Marius!" He started, for he recognized the voice which had summoned him two hours back through the garden railings in the Rue Plumet, but this voice now only seemed to be a gasp; he looked around him and saw nobody. Marius fancied that he was mistaken, and that it was an illusion added by his mind to the extraordinary realities which were pressing round him. He took a step to leave the remote angle in which the barricade stood. "Monsieur Marius!" the voice repeated; this time he could not doubt, for he had heard distinctly; he looked around but saw nothing. "At your feet," the voice said. He stooped down, and saw in the shadow a form crawling toward him on the pavement. It was the speaker. The lamp enabled him to distinguish a blouse, torn cotton-velvet trousers, bare feet, and something that resembled a pool of blood; Marius also caught a glimpse of a pale face raised to him, and saying,-- "Do you not recognize me?" "No." "Éponine." Marius eagerly stooped down; it was really that hapless girl, dressed in male clothes. "What brought you here? What are you doing?" "Dying," she said to him. There are words and incidents that wake up crushed beings; Marius cried with a start,-- "You are wounded! Wait, I will carry you into the wine-shop! Your wound will be dressed! Is it serious? How shall I catch hold of you so as not to hurt you? Where is it you suffer? Help, good God! But what did you come to do here?" And he tried to pass his hand under her to lift her, and as he did so he touched her hand; she uttered a faint cry. "Have I hurt you?" Marius asked. "A little." "But I only touched your hand." She raised her hand to Marius's eyes, and he could see a hole right through it. "What is the matter with your hand?" he said. "It is pierced." "Pierced?" "Yes." "What with?" "A bullet." "How?" "Did you see a musket aimed at you?"