It is a thing worth mentioning, that the fire which struck the
barricade scarce disturbed the interior. Those who have never passed
the tornado of a warfare of this nature cannot form any idea of the
singular moments of calmness mingled with these convulsions. Men
come and go, they talk, they jest, they idle. A friend of ours heard
a combatant say to him, in the midst of the grape-shot, "It is like
being at a bachelor's breakfast here." The redoubt in the Rue de la
Chanvrerie, we repeat, appeared internally most calm; and all the
incidents and phases were, or would shortly be, exhausted. The position
had become from critical menacing, and from menacing was probably about
to become desperate. In proportion as the situation grew darker an
heroic gleam more and more purpled the barricade. Enjolras commanded
it in the attitude of a young Spartan, devoting his bare sword to the
gloomy genius, Epidotas. Combeferre, with an apron tied round him, was
dressing the wounded. Bossuet and Feuilly were making cartridges with
the powder-flask found by Gavroche on the dead corporal, and Bossuet
was saying to Feuilly, "We are soon going to take the diligence for
another planet." Courfeyrac, seated on the few paving-stones which he
had set aside near Enjolras, was preparing and arranging an entire
arsenal--his sword-cane, his gun, two hostler-pistols, and a club--
with the ease of a girl setting a small what-not in order. Jean
Valjean was silently looking at the wall facing him, and a workman was
fastening on his head, with a piece of string, a broad-brimmed straw
bonnet of Mother Hucheloup's, "for fear of sun-strokes," as he said.
The young men of the Aix Cougourde were gayly chatting together, as if
desirous to talk patois for the last time: Joly, who had taken down
Widow Hucbeloup's mirror, was examining his tongue in it; while a few
combatants, who had discovered some nearly mouldering crusts of bread
in a drawer, were eating them greedily. Marius was anxious about what
his father would say to him.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE VULTURE BECOMES PREY.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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