Chapter I—the Flag: Act First

As yet, nothing had come. Ten o’clock had sounded from Saint-Merry. Enjolras and Combeferre had gone and seated themselves, carbines in hand, near the outlet of the grand barricade. They no longer addressed each other, they listened, seeking to catch even the faintest and most distant sound of marching.

Suddenly, in the midst of the dismal calm, a clear, gay, young voice, which seemed to come from the Rue Saint-Denis, rose and began to sing distinctly, to the old popular air of “By the Light of the Moon,” this bit of poetry, terminated by a cry like the crow of a cock:—

They pressed each other’s hands.

“That is Gavroche,” said Enjolras.

“He is warning us,” said Combeferre.

A hasty rush troubled the deserted street; they beheld a being more agile than a clown climb over the omnibus, and Gavroche bounded into the barricade, all breathless, saying:—

“My gun! Here they are!”

“Would you like my carbine?” said Enjolras to the lad.

“I want a big gun,” replied Gavroche.

And he seized Javert’s gun.