Jehan was next.
Jehan found himself in the arms of the National Guard. They forced him to kneel on the hard cobblestone street and looked at him.
"Look men, we caught ourself a traitor!" One of them said mockingly and slapped Jehan's pale face. Jehan felt the impact and bit his li. At the stinging pain.
"He's so small! Are they all like this? We could overcome them in hours!" another laughed.
"You took me here because you're sore from defeat. You need me to give you a sense of victory." The poet countered with head held high. One of the men kneeled in front of Jehan and roughly took the poet's chin in his hand.
"You will all die. Your rebellion is for nothing, as are your deaths. Remember that, traitor, as you think of your friends and of your sweetheart and mother."
Jehan watched the man and his thoughts did go to his friends. He thought of Courfeyrac and Grantaire and Combeferre. He had been meaning to finish the book Combeferre had lent him, but in the past few days, there hadn't been much time.
He thought of Feuilly and Enjolras and Joly and Bossuet and Bahorel who had been shot. He knew this man was wrong. His friends were dying for something bigger than all of them. Even if France wasn't free today, the dawn would come and nobody could stop it. Perhaps they had helped it along the way.
"You're wrong," the poet said with sparkling hope in his eyes. "France will be free, and you cannot stop it! The sun will rise and bathe her people in hope and peace. They will sing and be happy and the blood of the martyrs who helped hurry the sun will water the meadows of France. Our deaths will give life to a new world and you will be forgotten when it happens."
They looked at him for a minute before one of them pulled out a pistol and put it to Jehan's head.
Jehan felt his heartbeat quicken. He was afraid to die, of course he was. Only a fool wouldn't be. But he new the words he had spoken were true and he took heart in that. His friends must be worried about him, wondering where he was. He would leave them a message and perhaps they would take hope from it.
"Vive la France! Long live the future!" He cried in a voice that had become manly. A shot rang out.