And he began to speak,
gesticulating with his hands.
"Go in, close the shutters," the insurgents furiously shouted; "you'll
get yourself killed."
Thereupon the shutters were quickly closed, and nothing was heard save
the regular, rhythmical tramp of the soldiers who were drawing near.
A minute, that seemed an age, went by. The troops had disappeared,
hidden by an undulation of the ground; but over yonder, on the side of
the Nores plain, the insurgents soon perceived the bayonets shooting
up, one after another, like a field of steel-eared corn under the rising
sun. At that moment Silvere, who was glowing with feverish agitation,
fancied he could see the gendarme whose blood had stained his hands. He
knew, from the accounts of his companions, that Rengade was not dead,
that he had only lost an eye; and he clearly distinguished the unlucky
man with his empty socket bleeding horribly. The keen recollection of
this gendarme, to whom he had not given a thought since his departure
from Plassans, proved unbearable. He was afraid that fear might get the
better of him, and he tightened his hold on his carbine, while a mist
gathered before his eyes. He felt a longing to discharge his gun
and fire at the phantom of that one-eyed man so as to drive it away.
Meantime the bayonets were still and ever slowly ascending.
When the heads of the soldiers appeared on a level with the esplanade,
Silvere instinctively turned to Miette. She stood there with flushed
face, looking taller than ever amidst the folds of the red banner; she
was indeed standing on tiptoes in order to see the troops, and nervous
expectation made her nostrils quiver and her red lips part so as to
show her white, eager, gleaming teeth.
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