Chapter 323 XXIII Orestes starved, Pyrades drunk

In the end, people were piled up to form a ladder, and then using the broken ladder, they climbed up the wall and the ceiling, hacked and wounded the last few resisters at the entrance of the cave, and about twenty attackers, including soldiers, National Guards and security police. In a heap, more than half of them had suffered facial injuries on the thrilling climb, bleeding blinding eyes.They were furious and wild, and rushed into the room on the second floor.There was only one person standing there, and that was Enjolras.He had no bullets, no sword, and only the barrel of a gun in his hand, the butt of which had been knocked off the intruder's head.He placed the billiard table between himself and the attacker, and retreated to the corner of the room, his eyes bright and his head held high.He held the broken gun with a terrifying expression, so that no one approached him.Suddenly there was a loud cry:

"This is the chief. He killed the gunner. He picked a place instead. It's not bad. Let him stay like this and shoot him on the spot!" "Shoot," said Enjolras. He dropped the barrel in his hand, folded his arms, and waited with his chest straight. Heroism is always moving.Once Enjolras crossed his arms and accepted the death sentence, the deafening sound of fighting fell silent in the room, and the chaos immediately subsided, turning into a cemetery-like solemnity.Enjolras is unarmed, motionless, invincible.The young man, who seemed to exert a kind of pressure on the noise, was the only one who was not a little bit hurt.He was dignified, bloodstained, charming, with the indifference of an invulnerable man, as though his calm gaze alone compelled the fierce crowd to shoot him with respect.His handsome features, combined with his arrogance at this moment, made him radiant, and he seemed neither tired nor injured, and his face was still ruddy and fresh after these terrible twenty-four hours.He may have been the man whom a witness later spoke of in a court-martial: "There was a rebel whom I heard called Apollo." A National Guardsman, after taking aim at Enjolras, lowered his weapon again and said: "I feel Seems like going to shoot a flower."

Twelve formed a small group opposite Enjolras' corner, silently readying their weapons. Then a squad leader called out: "Aim!" An officer interrupted and said: "Wait a minute." He asked Enjolras: "Do I need to blindfold you?" "don't want." "Did you kill our gunner?" "yes." Grantaire has been awake for a while. Grantaire, we remember, has been sleeping upstairs in the hotel since last night, sitting on a chair and flopping on a table. He's exactly the same metaphor as before: dead drunk.This damned enchanting strong alcohol made him drowsy.His table was too small to be useful against the barricade, so it was left to him.He was always in the same position, chest bent over the table, head flat on arms, surrounded by glasses, beer mugs and bottles.His heavy sleep was like a hibernating bear and a blood-sucked leech. The salvos of guns, shells, and cannonballs shot into the house where he was staying through the window, and even the alarming clamor of the attack had no effect on him.He sometimes responded with snores to the gunfire.Lest he wake himself up, he seemed to be waiting for a bullet.Several corpses lay around him, and at first glance he was indistinguishable from these dead sleepers.

The noise never wakes a drunk.The silence woke him up instead.This strange phenomenon has been seen more than once.All around him collapsed and Grantaire was unconscious, and the collapse seemed to make him sleep more soundly.The tumult which ceased in the presence of Enjolras also had a shocking effect on the sleeper.It was like a speeding car suddenly stopped, and the sleeper in the car woke up.Grantaire straightened up suddenly, stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, looked around, yawned, and finally understood. Drunk sex passes like a curtain.The drunk comprehends at a glance all that the curtain hides.All kinds of situations emerged in his mind. He didn't know what had happened in the past twenty-four hours, but when he opened his eyes, he understood everything.The mind suddenly became sober again, the intoxication, the fog that confused the mind disappeared, followed by the inescapable clear reality.

The soldiers stared at Enjolras, who was retreating in a corner, as if hidden by the billiard table, and he didn't see Grantaire at all.The squad leader was about to issue the command again: "Aim!" Suddenly they heard a loud voice shouting from the side: "Long live the Republic! I am one too." Grantaire stood up. The infinite splendor of the whole battle which he had missed shone now in the eyes of the ennobled drunken man. He repeated "Long live the Republic!" and crossed the room with firm steps, leaning on Enjolras to stand in front of a row of guns.

"You hit two at a time!" he said. Turning again to Enjolras, he asked him gently: "Do you allow it?" Enjolras smiled and shook his hand. Before the smile ended, the volley of guns rang out. Enjolras, shot eight times, leaned against the wall as if pinned there by bullets, only with his head hanging. Grantaire was knocked down at his feet. Soon after, soldiers chased out the last rioters who had been hiding on top of the house, firing guns through a wooden fence into the attic.People are fighting in the attic.Someone threw people out of the window, and a few were still alive.Two hussars who were trying to raise the wrecked coach were killed by two shots from the attic.A man in a smock was tossed out, stabbed in the stomach with a bayonet, and fell to the ground moaning.A soldier and a rioter slid down the rubble slope at the same time, twisted together fiercely and fell down without letting go of each other.The same struggle was going on in the cellar, with shouts, gunshots, and savage trampling, and then there was a sudden silence and the barricades were taken.

Soldiers began searching the surrounding houses and hunting down the fugitives.