While Gavroche was scrutinizing
the shop-window and the cakes of windsor soap, two
children of unequal
stature, very
neatly
dressed, and still smaller than himself, one apparently
about seven years of age, the other five, timidly turned
the handle
and entered the shop, with a request for something or
other, alms possibly, in a plaintive murmur which resembled
a
groan rather than a prayer. They both spoke at once, and
their
words were unintelligible because sobs broke the voice
of the younger,
and the teeth of the elder were chattering with cold.
The barber wheeled round with a furious look, and without
abandoning
his
razor, thrust back the elder with his left hand and the
younger with his knee, and slammed his door, saying: "The
idea of coming in and freezing everybody for nothing!"
The two children resumed their march in tears. In the
meantime, a cloud had risen; it had begun to rain.
Little
Gavroche ran after them and accosted
them: —
"What's the matter with
you, brats?"
"We don't know where we are to sleep," replied
the elder.
"Is that all?" said Gavroche. "A
great matter, truly. The idea of bawling about that. They
must be greenies!"
And adopting, in addition to
his superiority, which was rather bantering, an accent
of tender
authority
and gentle
patronage:—
"Come along with me, young
'uns!"
"
Yes, sir," said the elder.
And the two children followed
him as they would have followed an archbishop. They had
stopped crying.
Gavroche led them up the Rue Saint-Antoine
in the direction of the Bastille.
As Gavroche walked along,
he cast an indignant backward glance at the barber's
shop.
"That fellow has no heart, the whiting," he muttered. "He's
an Englishman."