Chapter 274 Two Gavroche on the move

It is always a matter of great importance to the government to carry a pistol around the city without a firing pin, so Gavroche went on more and more vigorously.He yelled and sang the Marseillaise in fragments: "Everything is fine. My left hoof hurts badly. My rheumatism has ruined me, but, citizens, I'm glad. The bourgeoisie, if they can hold their own, I'll sing a little song for them. What's a spy? A pack of dogs Dog bastard! We must be respectful to dogs. How nice it would be if I had a dog with my gun. My friends, I come from the high road, the pot is hot, the broth is boiling and boiling, clear The time for scum has come. Come on, good job! Let the filthy blood water our fields! For the country, I give my life, I won't see my little wife again, ah, ah, it's over, Yes, Nini! What's this, hooray for joy! Fight, fuck! Despotism, I've had enough."

At this moment a pikeman of the National Guard came on horseback, and the horse fell down. Gavroche put his pistol on the ground, helped the man up, and then helped him up the horse.After this he picked up the pistol and walked forward. On Torini Street, everything is calm.This kind of paralysis is unique to the swamp area, and it is in contrast to the large noise of people around.Four old women gathered at the gate of a family to chat.Scotland has a trio of witches, Paris has a quartet of old mothers.On the wilderness of Almuy, someone said to Macbeth: "You will be king." This sentence may have been said to Bonaparte in the dark at the fork of Bodoyer.It's almost the same crow call.

These old women in the Rue de Torini only care about their own business.Three of them are gatekeepers.The other is a rag picker, with a basket on her back and a stick with a hook in her hand. The four of them seem to occupy a corner of the four corners of exhaustion, withering, decadence, and misery in the later years of life. The women who picked up the rags had a humble attitude. Among the women standing in the wind, those who picked up the rags greeted each other and looked after the gatekeepers.This is because the junk pile in the corner is at the disposal of the porter, and it may be fat or thin, depending on the momentary mood of the piler.There is also a big difference under the broom.

The woman who picked up the rags with a basket knew good from bad, she smiled at the three housekeepers, what a smile!They talked about things like: "It's amazing, is your cat still so fierce?" "My God, cats, you know, are born enemies of dogs. It's the dogs who complain." "People also complain of suffering." "But cat fleas don't follow people." "Never mind it. Dogs are always dangerous. I remember one year when there were too many dogs. The newspapers had to report it. At that time, the Tuileries Palace had a lot of big sheep pulling it." Do you remember the king of Rome?"

"I find the Duke of Bordeaux more agreeable." "I, I have seen Louis XVII. I like Louis XVII better." "The price of meat has risen again, Mama Batagon!" "Ah! Don't mention it. When it comes to meat, it's awful. Worst of all. You can't get anything but a little stringy crumb." Speaking of this, the woman who picked up the rags rushed to say: "Big sisters, it's not easy for me to do this job. The garbage dump is all dry. No one throws anything anymore, and eats it all." "There are others who are poorer than us, Ma Wagulem."

"Yes, that's the truth," said the rag-picking woman humbly. "At last I still have a job." There was a pause in the conversation.The rag-picker, driven by human nature to exaggerate, went on: "When I get home in the morning, I sort out the basket. I do managerial work (probably I mean cleanup). My house is filled with piles and piles of things. I put rags in the basket, fruit cores, vegetables I put the bread in the tub, my sweats and pants in my closet, the woolens in my chest of drawers, the waste paper in the corner of the window, the edible things in my gourd, and the broken glass in my cupboard. In the fireplace, the old shoes and socks behind the door, and the bones under my bed."

Gavroche was standing behind them listening. "Old women," he said, "why do you talk about politics?" The four mouths shot at him like a volley of artillery. "Another short-lived ghost has come." "What's in his darn paws? A pistol!" "It's outrageous, you brat!" "These guys can't settle down without overthrowing the government." Gavroche didn't care, and as a counterattack, he only lifted the tip of his nose with his thumb and opened his palm. The woman who picked up the rags shouted: "Barefoot wretch!"

The old woman who had just answered on behalf of Batagong's mother clapped her hands and said, annoyed: "Something's going to happen, yes. That little bastard over there with the moustache, I've seen him walk by every morning with his arm around a girl in a pink cap, and I've seen him pass again today. , but he had a rifle in his arm. Mother Basher said there was a revolution last week, at...at...at...for a moment I can't remember! In Pontoise. And now you see this one called Nausea brat with a pistol! I heard people say that Zeles would put up a cannon. We've had a lot of trouble, and now we're a little more settled, and these bastards are making trouble again , what do you ask the government to do? Good God, that poor queen who was sitting in a prison cart and beating me as she passed by! All this has to raise the price of tobacco leaves. Shameless! One day, I will see you go to the guillotine Yes, bastard!"

"You are breathing through your nose, my friend," said Gavroche. "Blow your chimney-pipe." He then walked away. Walking to Pashi Street, he thought of the old woman who picked up the rags again, and said this passage alone: "You're insulting the revolutionaries, you're thinking wrong, my mother who's in the corner of the wall. This pistol is good for you. It's for you to put more delicious things in that bag." He suddenly heard a voice behind him, and the doorkeeper woman, Batagon, followed her, raised her fist in the distance and shouted:

"You're just a bastard!" "Then," said Gavroche, "I feel deeply that I need not worry." Presently he passed the Lamoignon mansion, and at the door issued this call: "Let's go to fight!" He was immediately disturbed by another pang of sadness.He looked at the pistol with regret, as if to touch it.He said to it: "I've set off, but you can't." This dog can make people forget about that dog.A skinny poodle walked towards him.Gavroche felt uncomfortable. "My poor Toot," he said to the lean dog, "you've swallowed a big wine barrel? You've got a barrel hoop all over you."

Then he walked towards the Saint-Gervais elms.