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which Gavroche, in his character of a philosopher of the
nineteenth century, accepted, was followed by a broad flash
of lightning, so dazzling that a hint of it entered the belly
of the elephant through the crack. Almost at the same in-
stant, the thunder rumbled with great fury. The two little
creatures uttered a shriek, and started up so eagerly that the
network came near being displaced, but Gavroche turned
his bold face to them, and took advantage of the clap of
thunder to burst into a laugh.
‘Calm down, children. Don’t topple over the edifice.
That’s fine, first-class thunder; all right. That’s no slouch of
a streak of lightning. Bravo for the good God! Deuce take it!
It’s almost as good as it is at the Ambigu.’
That said, he restored order in the netting, pushed the
two children gently down on the bed, pressed their knees, in
order to stretch them out at full length, and exclaimed:—
‘Since the good God is lighting his candle, I can blow out
mine. Now, babes, now, my young humans, you must shut
your peepers. It’s very bad not to sleep. It’ll make you swal-
low the strainer, or, as they say, in fashionable society, stink
in the gullet. Wrap yourself up well in the hide! I’m going to
put out the light. Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ murmured the elder, ‘I’m all right. I seem to have
feathers under my head.’
‘People don’t say ‘head,’’ cried Gavroche, ‘they say ‘nut’.’
The two children nestled close to each other, Gavro-
che finished arranging them on the mat, drew the blanket
up to their very ears, then repeated, for the third time, his
injunction in the hieratical tongue:—