“And fasten it,” continued Brujon.
“To the top of the wall,” went on Babet.
“To the cross-bar of the window,” added Brujon.
“And then?” said Gavroche.
“There!” said Guelemer.
The gamin examined the rope, the flue, the wall, the windows, and made that indescribable and disdainful noise with his lips which signifies:—
“Is that all!”
“There’s a man up there whom you are to save,” resumed Montparnasse.
“Will you?” began Brujon again.
“Greenhorn!” replied the lad, as though the question appeared a most unprecedented one to him. And he took off his shoes.
Guelemer seized Gavroche by one arm, set him on the roof of the shanty, whose worm-eaten planks bent beneath the urchin’s weight, and handed him the rope which Brujon had knotted together during Montparnasse’s absence.
The gamin directed his steps towards the flue, which it was easy to enter, thanks to a large crack which touched the roof.
At the moment when he was on the point of ascending, Thenardier, who saw life and safety approaching, bent over the edge of the wall; the first light of dawn struck white upon his brow dripping with sweat, upon his livid cheek-bones, his sharp and savage nose, his bristling gray beard, and Gavroche recognized him.
“Hullo! it’s my father!
Oh, that won’t hinder.”
And taking the rope in his teeth, he resolutely began the ascent.
He reached the summit of the hut, bestrode the old wall as though it had been a horse, and knotted the rope firmly to the upper cross-bar of the window.
A moment later, Thenardier was in the street.
As soon as he touched the pavement, as soon as he found himself out of danger, he was no longer either weary, or chilled or trembling; the terrible things from which he had escaped vanished like smoke, all that strange and ferocious mind awoke once more, and stood erect and free, ready to march onward.
These were this man’s first words:—
“Now, whom are we to eat?”
It is useless to explain the sense of this frightfully transparent remark, which signifies both to kill, to assassinate, and to plunder.
To eat, true sense: to devour.
“Let’s get well into a corner,” said Brujon. “Let’s settle it in three words, and part at once.
There was an affair that promised well in the Rue Plumet, a deserted street, an isolated house, an old rotten gate on a garden, and lone women.”
“Well! why not?” demanded Thenardier.
“Your girl, Eponine, went to see about the matter,” replied Babet.
“And she brought a biscuit to Magnon,” added Guelemer.
“Nothing to be made there.”
“The girl’s no fool,” said Thenardier.
“Still, it must be seen to.”
“Yes, yes,” said Brujon, “it must be looked up.”
In the meanwhile, none of the men seemed to see Gavroche, who, during this colloquy, had seated himself on one of the fence-posts; he waited a few moments, thinking that perhaps his father would turn towards him, then he put on his shoes again, and said:—
“Is that all?
You don’t want any more, my men?
Now you’re out of your scrape.
I’m off.
I must go and get my brats out of bed.”
And off he went.
The five men emerged, one after another, from the enclosure.
When Gavroche had disappeared at the corner of the Rue des Ballets, Babet took Thenardier aside.
“Did you take a good look at that young ‘un?” he asked.
“What young ‘un?”
“The one who climbed the wall and carried you the rope.”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, I don’t know, but it strikes me that it was your son.”
“Bah!” said Thenardier, “do you think so?”
BOOK SEVENTH.—SLANG
CHAPTER I—ORIGIN
Pigritia is a terrible word. It engenders a whole world, la pegre, for which read theft, and a hell, la pegrenne, for which read hunger.