As yet, nothing had come. Ten o'clock had sounded from Saint-Merry. Enjolras and Combeferre had gone and seated themselves, carbines in hand, near the outlet of the grand barricade. They no longer addressed each other, they listened, seeking to catch even the faintest and most distant sound of marching.
Suddenly, in the midst of the dismal calm, a clear, gay, young voice, which seemed to come from the Rue Saint-Denis, rose and began to sing distinctly, to the old popular air of "By the Light of the Moon," this bit of poetry, terminated by a cry like the crow of a cock:--
Mon nez est en larmes, Mon ami Bugeaud, Prete moi tes gendarmes Pour leur dire un mot.
En capote bleue, La poule au shako, Voici la banlieue! Co-cocorico![54]
[54] My nose is in tears, my friend Bugeaud, lend me thy gendarmes that I may say a word to them. With a blue capote and a chicken in his shako, here's the banlieue, co-cocorico.
They pressed each other's hands.
"That is Gavroche," said Enjolras.
"He is warning us," said Combeferre.
A hasty rush troubled the deserted street; they beheld a being more agile than a clown climb over the omnibus, and Gavroche bounded into the barricade, all breathless, saying: --
"My gun! Here they are!"
An electric quiver shot through the whole barricade, and the sound of hands seeking their guns became audible.
"Would you like my carbine?" said Enjolras to the lad.
"I want a big gun," replied Gavroche.
And he seized Javert's gun.
Two sentinels had fallen back, and had come in almost at the same moment as Gavroche. They were the sentinels from the end of the street, and the vidette of the Rue de la Petite-Truanderie. The vidette of the Lane des Precheurs had remained at his post, which indicated that nothing was approaching from the direction of the bridges and Halles.
The Rue de la Chanvrerie, of which a few paving-stones alone were dimly visible in the reflection of the light projected on the flag, offered to the insurgents the aspect of a vast black door vaguely opened into a smoke.
Each man had taken up his position for the conflict.
Forty-three insurgents, among whom were Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel, and Gavroche, were kneeling inside the large barricade, with their heads on a level with the crest of the barrier, the barrels of their guns and carbines aimed on the stones as though at loop-holes, attentive, mute, ready to fire. Six, commanded by Feuilly, had installed themselves, with their guns levelled at their shoulders, at the windows of the two stories of Corinthe.
Several minutes passed thus, then a sound of footsteps,measured, heavy, and numerous, became distinctly audible in the direction of Saint-Leu. This sound, faint at first, then precise, then heavy and sonorous, approached slowly, without halt, without intermission, with a tranquil and terrible continuity. Nothing was to be heard but this. It was that combined silence and sound, of the statue of the commander, but this stony step had something indescribably enormous and multiple about it which awakened the idea of a throng, and, at the same time, the idea of a spectre. One thought one heard the terrible statue Legion marching onward. This tread drew near; it drew still nearer, and stopped. It seemed as though the breathing of many men could be heard at the end of the street. Nothing was to be seen, however, but at the bottom of that dense obscurity there could be distinguished a multitude of metallic threads, as fine as needles and almost imperceptible, which moved about like those indescribable phosphoric networks which one sees beneath one's closed eyelids, in the first mists of slumber at the moment when one is dropping off to sleep. These were bayonets and gun-barrels confusedly illuminated by the distant reflection of the torch.
A pause ensued, as though both sides were waiting. All at once, from the depths of this darkness, a voice, which was all the more sinister, since no one was visible, and which appeared to be the gloom itself speaking, shouted:--
"Who goes there?"
At the same time, the click of guns, as they were lowered into position, was heard.
Enjolras replied in a haughty and vibrating tone:--
"The French Revolution!"
"Fire!" shouted the voice.
A flash empurpled all the facades in the street as though the door of a furnace had been flung open, and hastily closed again.
A fearful detonation burst forth on the barricade. The red flag fell. The discharge had been so violent and so dense that it had cut the staff, that is to say, the very tip of the omnibus pole.
Bullets which had rebounded from the cornices of the houses penetrated the barricade and wounded several men.
The impression produced by this first discharge was freezing. The attack had been rough, and of a nature to inspire reflection in the boldest. It was evident that they had to deal with an entire regiment at the very least.
"Comrades!" shouted Courfeyrac, "let us not waste our powder. Let us wait until they are in the street before replying."
"And, above all," said Enjolras, "let us raise the flag again."
He picked up the flag, which had fallen precisely at his feet.
Outside, the clatter of the ramrods in the guns could be heard; the troops were re-loading their arms.
Enjolras went on:--
"Who is there here with a bold heart? Who will plant the flag on the barricade again?"
Not a man responded. To mount on the barricade at the very moment when, without any doubt, it was again the object of their aim, was simply death. The bravest hesitated to pronounce hisown condemnation. Enjolras himself felt a thrill. He repeated:--"Does no one volunteer?"
还没有发生什么事。圣美里的钟已经敲过十点，安灼拉和公白飞都握着卡宾枪走去坐在大街垒的缺口附近。他们没有谈话，他们侧耳细听，听那些最远和最微弱的脚步声。
突然，在这阴森的寂静中，有个年轻人的清脆愉快的声音好象来自圣德尼街那面，用《在月光下》这首古老民歌的曲调，开始清晰地大声唱着这样的歌词，末尾还加上一句模仿雄鸡的啼叫：
我的鼻子淌眼泪，
我的朋友毕若哟，
把你的士兵借给我，
让我和他们说句话哟。
老母鸡头上戴军帽，
身上披着军大衣哟，
它们已经到郊区，
喔喔哩喔哟。
他们彼此握了一下手。
“这是伽弗洛什的声音。”安灼拉说。
“来向我们报信的。”公白飞说。
一阵急促的脚步声惊动了荒凉的街道。一个比杂技演员还矫捷的人影从公共马车上爬过来，接着伽弗洛什跳进了街垒，他气喘吁吁，急忙说道：
“我的枪！他们来了。”
一阵电流似的寒噤传遍了街垒，只听见手摸枪支的声音。
“你要不要我的卡宾枪？”安灼拉问那野孩。
“我要那支步枪。”伽弗洛什回答。
说着他取了沙威那支步枪。
两个哨兵也折回来了，几乎是和伽弗洛什同时到达的。他们一个原在那街口放哨，一个在小化子窝街。布道修士街的那个守卫，仍留在原岗位上没动。这说明在桥和菜市场方面没有发生情况。
麻厂街在照着红旗的那一点微光的映射下只有几块铺路石还隐约可见，它象一个烟雾迷蒙中的大黑门洞似的，展现在那些起义的人们眼前。
每个人都在自己的战斗岗位上。
四十三个起义战士，包括安灼拉、公白飞、古费拉克、博须埃、若李、巴阿雷和伽弗洛什，都蹲在大街垒里，头略高于垒壁。步枪和卡宾枪的枪管都靠在石块上，如同炮台边的炮眼，个个聚精会神，全无声息，只待开枪射击。弗以伊领着六个人，守在科林斯的上下两层楼的窗口，端着枪，瞄准待放。
又过了一些时候，一阵由许多人踏出的整齐沉重的脚步声清晰地从圣勒方面传来，起初声音微弱，后来逐渐明显，再后又重又响，一路走来，没有停顿，没有间歇，沉稳骇人，越走越近。除这以外，没有其他声音。就象一尊巨大塑像的那种死气和威风，但那种沉重的脚步声又使人去想象黑压压一大片真不知有多少生灵，既象万千个群鬼，又象是庞然一巨鬼。阴森骇人，有如听到妖兵厉卒的来临。这脚步声走近了，走得更近了，突然停了下来。人们仿佛听到街口有许多人呼吸的声音。但是什么也看不见，只看到在那街的尽头，隐隐约约有无数纤细的金属线条在黑暗中晃动，象针一样，几乎看不清楚，正如人在合上眼皮刚入睡时出现在眼前的那种无可名状的荧光网。那是被火炬的光映照着的远处的枪刺和枪管。
又停顿了一阵子，好象双方都在等待。忽然从黑暗的深处发出一个人喊话的声音，由于看不见那人的身影，他的声音便显得格外凄厉骇人，好象是黑暗本身在喊话，那人喊道：
“口令？”
同时传来一阵端枪的咔嚓声。
安灼拉以洪亮高亢的声音回答说：
“法兰西革命。”
“放！”那人的声音说。
火光一闪，把街旁的房屋照成紫色，好象有个火炉的门突然开了一下，又立即闭上似的。
街垒发出一阵骇人的摧折破裂的声音。那面红旗倒了。这阵射击来得如此猛烈，如此密集，把那旗杆，就是说，把那辆公共马车的辕木尖扫断了。有些枪弹从墙壁上的突出面反射到街垒里，打伤了好几个人。
这第一次排枪射击给人的印象是够寒心的。攻势来得凶猛，最大胆的人对此也不能不有所思考。他们所要对付的显然是一整个联队。
“同志们，”古费拉克喊着说，“不要浪费弹药，让他们进入这条街，我们才还击。”
“首先，”安灼拉说，“我们得把这面旗子竖起来。”
他拾起了那面恰巧倒在他脚跟前的旗帜。
他们听到外面有通条和枪管撞击的声音，军队又在上枪弹了。
安灼拉继续说：
“这儿谁有胆量再把这面红旗插到街垒上去？”
没有人回答。街垒分明成了再次射击的目标，到那上面去，干脆就是送命。最大胆的人也下不了自我牺牲的决心。安灼拉自己也感到胆寒。他又问：
“没有人愿去？”