red much, and she must have still been
suffering greatly, for she said to herself, that her father had been
unkind; but she counted on Marius. The eclipse of such a light was
decidedly impossible. Now and then, she heard sharp shocks in the
distance, and she said: "It is odd that people should be opening and
shutting their carriage gates so early." They were the reports of the
cannon battering the barricade.

A few feet below Cosette's window, in the ancient and perfectly black
cornice of the wall, there was a martin's nest; the curve of this nest
formed a little projection beyond the cornice, so that from above it
was possible to look into this little paradise. The mother was there,
spreading her wings like a fan over her brood; the father fluttered
about, flew away, then came back, bearing in his beak food and kisses.
The dawning day gilded this happy thing, the great law, "Multiply," lay
there smiling and august, and that sweet mystery unfolded in the
glory of the morning. Cosette, with her hair in the sunlight, her
soul absorbed in chimeras, illuminated by love within and by the dawn
without, bent over mechanically, and almost without daring to avow to
herself that she was thinking at the same time of Marius, began to gaze
at these birds, at this family, at that male and female, that mother and
her little ones, with the profound trouble which a nest produces on a
virgin.

CHAPTER XI--THE SHOT WHICH MISSES NOTHING AND KILLS NO ONE

The assailants' fire continued. Musketry and grape-shot alternated, but
without committing great ravages, to tell the truth. The top alone of
the Corinthe facade suffered; the window on the first floor, and the
attic window in the roof, riddled with buck-shot and biscaiens, were
slowly losing their shape. The combatants who had been posted there had
been obliged to withdraw. However, this is according to the tactics
of barricades; to fire for a long while, in order to exhaust the
insurgents' ammunition, if they commit the mistake of replying. When it
is perceived, from the slackening of their fire, that they have no more
powder and ball, the assault is made. Enjolras had not fallen into this
trap; the barricade did not reply.

At every discharge by platoons, Gavroche puffed out his cheek with his
tongue, a sign of supreme disdain.

"Good for you," said he, "rip up the cloth. We want some lint."

Courfeyrac called the grape-shot to order for the little effect which it
produced,