thy fate," cried Combeferre.
"So be it," replied Enjolras.
"One word more.
In executing this man, I have obeyed necessity; but necessity is a monster of the old world, necessity''s name is Fatality.
Now, the law of progress is, that monsters shall disappear before the angels, and that Fatality shall vanish before Fraternity.
It is a bad moment to pronounce the word love.
No matter, I do pronounce it. And I glorify it.
Love, the future is thine.
Death, I make use of thee, but I hate thee.
Citizens, in the future there will be neither darkness nor thunderbolts; neither ferocious ignorance, nor bloody retaliation.
As there will be no more Satan, there will be no more Michael.
In the future no one will kill any one else, the earth will beam with radiance, the human race will love. The day will come, citizens, when all will be concord, harmony, light, joy and life; it will come, and it is in order that it may come that we are about to die."
Enjolras ceased.
His virgin lips closed; and he remained for some time standing on the spot where he had shed blood, in marble immobility. His staring eye caused those about him to speak in low tones.
Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre pressed each other''s hands silently, and, leaning against each other in an angle of the barricade, they watched with an admiration in which there was some compassion, that grave young man, executioner and priest, composed of light, like crystal, and also of rock.