He had gone home to put on a Robespierre waistcoat.
"Red," said he as he entered, and he looked intently at Enjolras. Then, with the palm of his energetic hand, he laid the two scarlet points of the waistcoat across his breast.
And stepping up to Enjolras, he whispered in his ear:--
"Be easy."
He jammed his hat on resolutely and departed.
A quarter of an hour later, the back room of the Cafe Musain was deserted.
All the friends of the A B C were gone, each in his own direction, each to his own task.
Enjolras, who had reserved the Cougourde of Aix for himself, was the last to leave.
Those members of the Cougourde of Aix who were in Paris then met on the plain of Issy, in one of the abandoned quarries which are so numerous in that side of Paris.
As Enjolras walked towards this place, he passed the whole situation in review in his own mind.
The gravity of events was self-evident. When facts, the premonitory symptoms of latent social malady, move heavily, the slightest complication stops and entangles them. A phenomenon whence arises ruin and new births.◎思◎兔◎網◎文◎檔◎共◎享◎與◎在◎線◎閱◎讀◎
Enjolras descried a luminous uplifting beneath the gloomy skirts of the future. Who knows?
Perhaps the moment was at hand.
The people were again taking possession of right, and what a fine spectacle! The revolution was again majestically taking possession of France and saying to the world: