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from the latter. When a shot laid Marius low, Jean Valjean
leaped forward with the agility of a tiger, fell upon him as on
his prey, and bore him off.
The whirlwind of the attack was, at that moment, so
violently concentrated upon Enjolras and upon the door
of the wine-shop, that no one saw Jean Valjean sustain-
ing the fainting Marius in his arms, traverse the unpaved
field of the barricade and disappear behind the angle of the
Corinthe building.
The reader will recall this angle which formed a sort
of cape on the street; it afforded shelter from the bullets,
the grape-shot, and all eyes, and a few square feet of space.
There is sometimes a chamber which does not burn in the
midst of a conflagration, and in the midst of raging seas,
beyond a promontory or at the extremity of a blind alley of
shoals, a tranquil nook. It was in this sort of fold in the inte-
rior trapezium of the barricade, that Eponine had breathed
her last.
There Jean Valjean halted, let Marius slide to the ground,
placed his back against the wall, and cast his eyes about
him.
The situation was alarming.
For an instant, for two or three perhaps, this bit of wall
was a shelter, but how was he to escape from this massacre?
He recalled the anguish which he had suffered in the Rue
Polonceau eight years before, and in what manner he had
contrived to make his escape; it was difficult then, to-day it
was impossible. He had before him that deaf and implacable
house, six stories in height, which appeared to be inhabited