Part 208 (2/2)
So saying, she seated herself on the underpinning of the fence and hummed:--
”Mon bras si dodu, ”My arm so plump, Ma jambe bien faite My leg well formed, Et le temps perdu.” And time wasted.”
She had set her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, and she swung her foot with an air of indifference. Her tattered gown permitted a view of her thin shoulder-blades. The neighboring street lantern illuminated her profile and her att.i.tude. Nothing more resolute and more surprising could be seen.
The six rascals, speechless and gloomy at being held in check by a girl, retreated beneath the shadow cast by the lantern, and held counsel with furious and humiliated shrugs.
In the meantime she stared at them with a stern but peaceful air.
”There's something the matter with her,” said Babet. ”A reason. Is she in love with the dog? It's a shame to miss this, anyway. Two women, an old fellow who lodges in the back-yard, and curtains that ain't so bad at the windows. The old cove must be a Jew. I think the job's a good one.”
”Well, go in, then, the rest of you,” exclaimed Montparna.s.se. ”Do the job. I'll stay here with the girl, and if she fails us--”
He flashed the knife, which he held open in his hand, in the light of the lantern.
Thenardier said not a word, and seemed ready for whatever the rest pleased.
Brujon, who was somewhat of an oracle, and who had, as the reader knows, ”put up the job,” had not as yet spoken. He seemed thoughtful. He had the reputation of not sticking at anything, and it was known that he had plundered a police post simply out of bravado. Besides this he made verses and songs, which gave him great authority.
Babet interrogated him:--
”You say nothing, Brujon?”
Brujon remained silent an instant longer, then he shook his head in various ways, and finally concluded to speak:--
”See here; this morning I came across two sparrows fighting, this evening I jostled a woman who was quarrelling. All that's bad. Let's quit.”
They went away.
As they went, Montparna.s.se muttered:--
”Never mind! if they had wanted, I'd have cut her throat.”
Babet responded
”I wouldn't. I don't hit a lady.”
At the corner of the street they halted and exchanged the following enigmatical dialogue in a low tone:--
”Where shall we go to sleep to-night?”
”Under Pantin [Paris].”
”Have you the key to the gate, Thenardier?”
”Pardi.”
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