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CHAPTER XIV
WHEREIN WILL
APPEAR THE NAME OF
ENJOLRAS’ MISTRESS
Courfeyrac, seated on a paving-stone beside Enjol-
ras, continued to insult the cannon, and each time that
that gloomy cloud of projectiles which is called grape-shot
passed overhead with its terrible sound he assailed it with a
burst of irony.
‘You are wearing out your lungs, poor, brutal, old fellow,
you pain me, you are wasting your row. That’s not thunder,
it’s a cough.’
And the bystanders laughed.
Courfeyrac and Bossuet, whose brave good humor in-
creased with the peril, like Madame Scarron, replaced
nourishment with pleasantry, and, as wine was lacking,
they poured out gayety to all.
‘I admire Enjolras,’ said Bossuet. ‘His impassive temerity
astounds me. He lives alone, which renders him a little sad,
perhaps; Enjolras complains of his greatness, which binds