Chapter 287 1 From Rue Plumet to Saint-Denis

To him, the voice that called Marius to the barricade in Machang Street in the twilight seemed to be a call from the God of Destiny.He was praying for death, but the chance of death came to him automatically. He was knocking on the door of the tomb, but a hand in the darkness handed him the key.There is something attractive about the grisly way out that presents itself to a frustrated person caught in the dark.Marius pushed aside the iron bar that had allowed him to pass many times, went out of the garden and said, "Let's go together!" Marius was mad with pain, and no longer had any firm opinions. After these two months of youth and love intoxicated, he had completely lost the ability to control his own destiny, and was overwhelmed by all kinds of delusions in despair. He has only one wish at this time: to die as soon as possible.

He ran forward.He happened to be armed with Javert's two pistols. The young man he thought he had seen once disappeared in the street. Marius left the Rue Plumet, walked up the boulevard, crossed the Grand Place in front of the Invalides, the Pont de Invalides, the Place Elysée, the Place Louis XV, and reached the Rue Rivoli.The shops there were still open, gaslighted under the arches, women were shopping in the shops, and some were eating ice cream in the Lyte's and shortbread in the English pastry shop.Only a few mail cars run from the Prince's Hotel and the Morris Hotel. Marius entered the Rue Saint-Honoré through the Passage de Lhame.The shops there were closed, the merchants were talking in front of the half-closed doors, there were still people walking on the road, the street lamps were still on, and there were lights in the windows of every floor, as usual.There is a cavalry in the palace square.

Marius walked along the Rue Saint-Honoré.Walking through the palace, the windows with light gradually became rare, the doors of the shops were closed tightly, no one was chatting at the door, the street was getting darker and darker, but at the same time, there were more and more people.Because the pedestrians on the road are now in groups.No one was talking in the crowd, but a low humming whisper could be heard. Near the dry tree fountain, there were some "parties". Groups of depressed people stopped motionless on the road where pedestrians came and went, like whetstones in running water.

At the corner of the Rue de Prouvaire, the crowd stopped moving.It was a solid mass of murmurs, compact, impenetrable, immovable, almost impenetrable.There were hardly any people in black and round-brimmed hats.They are people wearing blouses, cloth jackets, and peaked caps, with disheveled bristling hair and earthy faces.This large group of people floated secretly in the night mist.Their whispers are like the wind and rain.Although no one was moving, the sound of footsteps in mud could be heard.A little further off from this group, at the end of the Rue Ruhr, the Rue de Bruville, and the Rue Saint-Honoré, there was only one window where a candle was still burning.On these streets, you can also see rows of scattered and gradually rare lanterns.The lanterns of that era were like a big red star hanging on a rope, and its shadow was cast on the street like a big spider.It's not that there are no people on these streets.There were clusters of rifles racked together, dangling bayonets, and camped soldiers.No one dared to go beyond these places to satisfy curiosity.That's where traffic stops, pedestrians stay, and the military begins.

Marius desired nothing, and feared nothing.If someone has called him, he should go.He tried his best to get through the crowd, through the soldiers sleeping in the open, avoiding the patrols, avoiding the sentry posts.He went around in a circle, reached Bedisi Street, and walked towards the vegetable market.By the corner of Rue Bourdonnay, there were no more lanterns. He made his way through the densely populated area, over the front line of the army, and he came to a terrible place.There is no one passing by, no soldiers, no light, nothing, lonely, deserted, and the night is so deep that it makes people feel palpitating.Walking into a street is like walking into a cellar.

He kept going. He took a few steps.Someone ran past him.Is it a man?Is it a woman?How many people are there?He can't answer.He ran over and disappeared. Going around, he turned into a small alley, which he thought was Pottery Street, and in the middle of this small alley, he bumped into an obstacle.He reached out and felt it was an overturned car; his feet felt mud, puddles, scattered and piled stones everywhere.There was a barricade that had been erected and then abandoned.He climbed over the stones to the other side of the fort.He approached the cornerstone and walked forward feeling the wall of the house.Not far from the ruins, he seemed to see something white in front of him.When he got closer, he could see the shape of the thing clearly.It turned out that they were two white horses, which Bossuet had untied from the coach that morning, and had wandered about the streets all day, and had come to this place.The two horses, wandering aimlessly with that brutish, patient, patient disposition, understand no more the actions of man than man understands the actions of God.

Marius walked around the two horses.He approached a street, he thought it was Minjo Street, and when he got there, a bullet flew from nowhere, passed through the dark space and rubbed against his ear, hissed, and a barber shop next to him There was a hole in a brass shaving dish that hung over his head from the door.In 1846, this pierced copper plate can still be seen at the corner of the pillars of Minjo Street next to the vegetable market. The presence of this shot always indicates that someone is active there.Since then, he has encountered nothing. The whole route he took seemed to be a rung descending in the dark at night.

Marius went on in the same way.