as being invaded, the gendarmes' barracks, situated
a few steps away, in the Rue Canquoin, which leads to the market, had
also fallen into the hands of the mob. The gendarmes were surprised in
their beds and disarmed in a few minutes. The impetus of the crowd had
carried Miette and Silvere along in this direction. The girl, who still
clasped her flagstaff to her breast, was pushed against the wall of
the barracks, while the young man, carried away by the human wave,
penetrated into the interior, and helped his comrades to wrest from the
gendarmes the carbines which they had hastily caught up. Silvere, waxing
ferocious, intoxicated by the onslaught, attacked a big devil of a
gendarme named Rengade, with whom for a few moments he struggled. At
last, by a sudden jerk, he succeeded in wresting his carbine from him.
But the barrel struck Rengade a violent blow in the face, which put his
right eye out. Blood flowed, and, some of it splashing Silvere's hands,
quickly brought him to his senses. He looked at his hands, dropped the
carbine, and ran out, in a state of frenzy, shaking his fingers.

"You are wounded!" cried Miette.

"No, no," he replied in a stifled voice, "I've just killed a gendarme."

"Is he really dead?" asked Miette.

"I don't know," replied Silvere, "his face was all covered with blood.
Come quickly."

Then he hurried the girl away. On reaching the market, he made her sit
down on a stone bench, and told her to wait there for him. He was still
looking at his hands, muttering something at the same time. Miette at
last understood from his disquieted words that he wished to go and kiss
his grandmother before leaving.

"Well, go," she said; "don't trouble yourself about me. Wash your
hands."

But he went quickly away, keeping his fingers apart, without thinking
of washing them at the pump which he passed. Since he had felt Rengade's
warm blood on his skin, he had been possessed by one idea, that of
running to Aunt Dide's and dipping his hands in the well-trough at the
back of the little yard. There only, he thought, would he be able
to wash off the stain of that blood. Moreover, all his calm, gentle
childhood seemed to return to him; he felt an irresistible longing
to take refuge in his grandmother's skirts, if only for a minute.
He arrived quite out of breath. Aunt Dide had not gone to bed, a
circumstance which at any other time would have greatly surprised
Silvere. But on entering he did not even see his