Enjolras was the only man now on his feet. His pistol empty, with no sword, he had retreated to the corner of the room by the window, holding a red flag. Despite all that had just gone by, he held his head high, waiting for the soldiers to catch up.
A moment later, about twelve men rushed into the room, and spotted him standing there. They surrounded him immediately, aiming at him; he did not flinch though. He showed no fear.
Before they could fire however, a voice cried out, "Vive la République!" All of the gazes turned to see a dark-haired man walk across the room and join Enjolras at the window. It was Grantaire. "Two at one shot," he said to the soldiers, before looking at Enjolras. "Will you permit it?"
With a smile, Enjolras took Grantaire's hand, pressing it tightly. The smile was not yet finished when the report was heard. Enjolras, pierced eight times, fell backward, his back leaning against the window ledge, as the flag hung out the window. Grantaire fell to Enjolras' feet.
The men left, to find the remaining survivors.
Little did they know they had just left two behind...