MORTUUS PATER FILIUM MORITURUM EXPECTAT
Marius dashed out of the barricade, Combeferre followed him.
But he was too late. Gavroche was dead. Combeferre brought back
the basket of cartridges; Marius bore the child.
"Alas!" he thought, "that which the father had done for his father,
he was requiting to the son; only, Thenardier had brought back his
father alive; he was bringing back the child dead."
When Marius re-entered the redoubt with Gavroche in his arms,
his face, like the child, was inundated with blood.
At the moment when he had stooped to lift Gavroche, a bullet had
grazed his head; he had not noticed it.
Courfeyrac untied his cravat and with it bandaged Marius' brow.
They laid Gavroche on the same table with Mabeuf, and spread over
the two corpses the black shawl. There was enough of it for both
the old man and the child.
Combeferre distributed the cartridges from the basket which he
had brought in.
This gave each man fifteen rounds to fire.
Jean Valjean was still in the same place, motionless on his
stone post. When Combeferre offered him his fifteen cartridges,
he shook his head.
"Here's a rare eccentric," said Combeferre in a low voice to Enjolras.
"He finds a way of not fighting in this barricade."
"Which does not prevent him from defending it," responded Enjolras.
"Heroism has its originals," resumed Combeferre.
And Courfeyrac, who had overheard, added:
"He is another sort from Father Mabeuf."
One thing which must be noted is, that the fire which was battering
the barricade hardly disturbed the interior. Those who have never
traversed the whirlwind of this sort of war can form no idea of the
singular moments of tranquillity mingled with these convulsions.
Men go and come, they talk, they jest, they lounge. Some one whom
we know heard a combatant say to him in the midst of the grape-shot:
"We are here as at a bachelor breakfast." The redoubt of the Rue de
la Chanvrerie, we repeat, seemed very calm within. All mutations
and all phases had been, or were about to be, exhausted. The position,
from critical, had become menacing, and, from menacing, was probably
about to become desperate. In proportion as the situation grew gloomy,
the glow of heroism empurpled the barricade more and more.
Enjolras, who was grave, dominated it, in the attitude of a young
Spartan sacrificing his naked sword to the sombre genius, Epidotas.
Combeferre, wearing an apron, was dressing the wounds:
Bossuet and Feuilly were making cartridges with the powder-flask
picked up by Gavroche on the dead corporal, and Bossuet said
to Feuilly: "We are soon to take the diligence for another planet";
Courfeyrac was disposing and arranging on some paving-stones which
he had reserved for himself near Enjolras, a complete arsenal,
his sword-cane, his gun, two holster pistols, and a cudgel,
with the care of a young girl setting a small dunkerque in order.
Jean Valjean stared silently at the wall opposite him. An artisan
was fastening Mother Hucheloup's big straw hat on his head with
a string, "for fear of sun-stroke," as he said. The young men
from the Cougourde d'Aix were chatting merrily among themselves,
as though eager to speak patois for the last time. Joly, who had
taken Widow Hucheloup's mirror from the wall, was examining his
tongue in it. Some combatants, having discovered a few crusts
of rather mouldy bread, in a drawer, were eagerly devouring them.
Marius was disturbed with regard to what his father was about to say