1 (6)
RECRUITS
THE BAND INCREASED at every moment. Towards the Rue des Billettes a man of tall stature, who was turning grey, whose rough and bold mien Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Combeferre noticed, but whom none of them knew, joined them. Gavroche, busy singing, whistling, humming, going forward and rapping on the shutters of the shops with the butt of his ham merless pistol, paid no attention to this man.
It happened that, in the Rue de la Verrerie, they passed by Courfeyrac’s door.
“That is lucky,” said Courfeyrac, “I have forgotten my purse and I have lost my hat.” He left the company and went up to his room, four stairs at a time. He took an old hat and his purse. He took also a large square box, of the size of a big valise, which was hidden among his dirty clothes. As he was running down again, the portress hailed him:
“Monsieur de Courfeyrac?”
“Portress, what is your name?” responded Courfeyrac.
The portress stood aghast.
“Why, you know it very well; I am the portress, my name is Mother Veuvain.”
“Well, if you call me Monsieur de Courfeyrac again, I shall call you Mother de Veuvain. Now, speak, what is it? What do you want?”
“There is somebody who wishes to speak to you.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is he?”
“In my lodge.”
“The devil!” said Courfeyrac.
“But he has been waiting more than an hour for you to come home!” replied the portress.
At the same time, a sort of young working-man, thin, pale, small, freckled, dressed in a torn smock and patched trousers of ribbed velvet, and who had rather the appearance of a girl in boy’s clothes than of a man, came out of the lodge and said to Courfeyrac in a voice which, to be sure, was not the least in the world like a woman’s voice.
“Monsieur Marius, if you please?”
“He is not in.”
“Will he be in this evening?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
And Courfeyrac added: “As for myself, I shall not be in.”
The young man looked fixedly at him, and asked him:
“Why so?”
“Because.”
“Where are you going then?”
“What is that to you?”
“Do you want me to carry your box?”
“I am going to the barricades.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“If you like,” answered Courfeyrac. “The road is free; the streets belong to everybody.”
And he ran off to rejoin his friends. When he had rejoined them, he gave the box to one of them to carry. It was not until a quarter of an hour afterwards that he perceived that the young man had in fact followed them.
A mob does not go precisely where it wishes. We have explained that a gust of wind carries it along. They went beyond Saint Merry and found themselves, without really knowing how, in the Rue Saint-Denis.