At the same time the click of muskets being cocked could be heard. Enjolras replied with a sonorous and haughty accent,—
"French Revolution!"
"Fire!" the voice commanded.
A flash lit up all the frontages in the street, as if the door of a furnace had been suddenly opened and shut, and a frightful shower of bullets hurled against the barricade, and the flag fell. The discharge had been so violent and dense that it cut the staff asunder, that is to say, the extreme point of the omnibus pole. Bullets ricochetting from the corners of the houses penetrated the barricade and wounded several men. The impression produced by this first discharge was chilling; the attack was rude, and of a nature to make the boldest think. It was plain that they had to do with a whole regiment at the least.
"Comrades," Courfeyrac cried, "let us not waste our powder, but wait till they have entered the street before returning their fire."
"And before all," Enjolras said, "let us hoist the flag again!"
He picked up the flag, which had fallen at his feet: outside, the ring of ramrods in barrels could be heard; the troops were reloading. Enjolras continued,—
"Who has a brave heart among us? Who will plant the flag on the barricade again?"
Not one replied; for to mount the barricade at this moment, when all the guns were doubtless again aimed at it, was simply death, and the bravest man hesitates to condemn himself. Enjolras even shuddered as he repeated,—
"Will no one offer?"