2090 Les Miserables
made himself a target. He stood with more than half his
body above the breastworks. There is no more violent prodi-
gal than the avaricious man who takes the bit in his teeth;
there is no man more terrible in action than a dreamer.
Marius was formidable and pensive. In battle he was as in
a dream. One would have pronounced him a phantom en-
gaged in firing a gun.
The insurgents’ cartridges were giving out; but not their
sarcasms. In this whirlwind of the sepulchre in which they
stood, they laughed.
Courfeyrac was bare-headed.
‘What have you done with your hat?’ Bossuet asked
him.
Courfeyrac replied:
‘They have finally taken it away from me with cannon-
ba l ls.’
Or they uttered haughty comments.
‘Can any one understand,’ exclaimed Feuilly bitterly,
‘those men,—[and he cited names, well-known names, even
celebrated names, some belonging to the old army]—who
had promised to join us, and taken an oath to aid us, and
who had pledged their honor to it, and who are our gener-
als, and who abandon us!’
And Combeferre restricted himself to replying with a
grave smile.
‘There are people who observe the rules of honor as one
observes the stars, from a great distance.’
The interior of the barricade was so strewn with torn
cartridges that one would have said that there had been a