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ed 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 Gav-
roche, 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 en-
closure.
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?’