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He was pale, calm, and bleeding; he had already been fighting during the
morning. At the barricade of the Faubourg Saint Martin a ball had grazed
his breast, but had been turned off by some money in his pocket, and had
only broken the skin. He had had the rare good fortune of being
scratched by a ball. It was like the first touch from the claws of
death. He wore a cap, his hat having been left behind in the barricade
where he had fought: and he had replaced his bullet-pierced overcoat,
which was made of Belleisle cloth, by a pea-jacket bought at a
slop-shop.
How had he reached the barricade of the Petit Carreau? He could not say.
He had walked straight before him. He had glided from street to street.
Chance takes the predestined by the hand, and leads them straight to
their goal through the thick darkness.
At the moment when he entered the barricade they cried out to him, "Who
goes there?" He answered, "The Republic!"
They saw Jeanty Sarre shake him by the hand. They asked Jeanty Sarre,--
"
Who is he?"
Jeanty Sarre answered,--
"It is some one."
And he added,--
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