Suddenly he stopped. "Here is one," said he. In truth, seven or eight

paces before us was a barricade entirely constructed of paving-stones,

not exceeding a man's height, and which in the darkness appeared like a

ruined wall. A narrow passage had been formed at one end. We passed

through it. There was no one behind the barricade.

There has already been fighting here a short time ago," said the

last-maker in a low voice; and he added, after a pause, "We are getting

near."

The unpaving had left holes, of which we had to be careful. We strode,

and sometimes jumped, from paving-stone to paving-stone. Notwithstanding

the intense darkness, there yet hovered about an indefinable glimmer; on

our way we noticed before us on the ground, close to the foot-pavement,

something which looked like a stretched-out form. "The devil!" muttered

my guide, "we were just going to walk upon it." He took a little wax

match from his pocket and struck it on his sleeve; the flame flashed

out. The light fell upon a pallid face, which looked at us with fixed

eyes. It was a corpse lying there; it was an old man. The last-maker

rapidly waved the match from his head to his feet. The dead man was

almost in the attitude of a crucified man; his two arms were stretched

out; his white hair, red at the ends, was soaking in the mud; a pool of

blood was beneath him; a large blackish patch on his waistcoat marked

the place where the ball had pierced his breast; one of his braces was

undone; he had thick laced boots on his feet. The last-maker lifted up

one of his arms, and said, "His collar-bone is broken." The movement

shook the head, and the open mouth turned towards us as though about to

speak to us. I gazed at this vision; I almost listened. Suddenly it

479

The History of a Crime