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this new-fangled trap.
Still the little one could not sleep.
‘Sir?’ he began again.
‘Hey?’ said Gavroche.
‘What are rats?’
‘They are mice.’
This explanation reassured the child a little. He had seen
white mice in the course of his life, and he was not afraid of
them. Nevertheless, he lifted up his voice once more.
‘Sir?’
‘Hey?’ said Gavroche again.
‘Why don’t you have a cat?’
‘I did have one,’ replied Gavroche, ‘I brought one here,
but they ate her.’
This second explanation undid the work of the first, and
the little fellow began to tremble again.
The dialogue between him and Gavroche began again
for the fourth time:—
‘Monsieur?’
‘Hey?’
‘Who was it that was eaten?’
‘The cat.’
‘And who ate the cat?’
‘The rats.’
‘The mice?’
‘Yes, the rats.’
The child, in consternation, dismayed at the thought of
mice which ate cats, pursued:—
‘Sir, would those mice eat us?’