Part 220 (2/2)

”'Flock'; a polite way of saying geese.”

And he tore the charge from the nail. This conquered Gavroche. From that instant Gavroche set himself to study Bah.o.r.el.

”Bah.o.r.el,” observed Enjolras, ”you are wrong. You should have let that charge alone, he is not the person with whom we have to deal, you are wasting your wrath to no purpose. Take care of your supply. One does not fire out of the ranks with the soul any more than with a gun.”

”Each one in his own fas.h.i.+on, Enjolras,” retorted Bah.o.r.el. ”This bishop's prose shocks me; I want to eat eggs without being permitted.

Your style is the hot and cold; I am amusing myself. Besides, I'm not wasting myself, I'm getting a start; and if I tore down that charge, Hercle! 'twas only to whet my appet.i.te.”

This word, Hercle, struck Gavroche. He sought all occasions for learning, and that tearer-down of posters possessed his esteem. He inquired of him:--

”What does Hercle mean?”

Bah.o.r.el answered:--

”It means cursed name of a dog, in Latin.”

Here Bah.o.r.el recognized at a window a pale young man with a black beard who was watching them as they pa.s.sed, probably a Friend of the A B C. He shouted to him:--

”Quick, cartridges, para bellum.”

”A fine man! that's true,” said Gavroche, who now understood Latin.

A tumultuous retinue accompanied them,--students, artists, young men affiliated to the Cougourde of Aix, artisans, longsh.o.r.emen, armed with clubs and bayonets; some, like Combeferre, with pistols thrust into their trousers.

An old man, who appeared to be extremely aged, was walking in the band.

He had no arms, and he made great haste, so that he might not be left behind, although he had a thoughtful air.

Gavroche caught sight of him:--

”Keksekca?” said he to Courfeyrac.

”He's an old duffer.”

It was M. Mabeuf.

CHAPTER V--THE OLD MAN

Let us recount what had taken place.

Enjolras and his friends had been on the Boulevard Bourdon, near the public storehouses, at the moment when the dragoons had made their charge. Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre were among those who had taken to the Rue Ba.s.sompierre, shouting: ”To the barricades!” In the Rue Lesdiguieres they had met an old man walking along. What had attracted their attention was that the goodman was walking in a zig-zag, as though he were intoxicated. Moreover, he had his hat in his hand, although it had been raining all the morning, and was raining pretty briskly at the very time. Courfeyrac had recognized Father Mabeuf. He knew him through having many times accompanied Marius as far as his door. As he was acquainted with the peaceful and more than timid habits of the old beadle-book-collector, and was amazed at the sight of him in the midst of that uproar, a couple of paces from the cavalry charges, almost in the midst of a fusillade, hatless in the rain, and strolling about among the bullets, he had accosted him, and the following dialogue had been exchanged between the rioter of fire and the octogenarian:--

”M. Mabeuf, go to your home.”

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