Chapter 300 Four Gavroche's Overexcitement
At this moment Gavroche encountered an unexpected event.
After Gavroche had seriously smashed the street lamp in Stubble Street, he turned to Old Odrette Street, did not meet an "old cat", and thought this was a good opportunity to sing what he could sing. All the songs were sung heartily.Far from being slowed down by Gezi, his pace accelerated instead.He's spitting out this provocative lyric along the way through houses that are asleep or terrified:
While Gavroche sang, he also gave a colorful performance.The gesture is the fulcrum of the refrain.His face has ever-changing and endless facial makeup, and the holes in the torn sheets flying in the strong wind are not as funny and unpredictable as his face.It's a pity that he is only one person, and in the dark night, no one sees him, and no one sees him.This is buried wealth. He stopped singing suddenly. "Pause the romance," he said. His feline eyes discovered in the opening of a large carriage door what was called a composition, that is to say, a drawing of a figure: the object was a cart and the figure was an Auvergne sleeping in it. The pole of the cart hit the ground, and the Auvergne's head rested on the side of the box.His body was curled up on the slanted car floor, his feet hanging down to the ground. Gavroche was experienced enough to see that the man was drunk. It was a workman pushing goods in that area, and he drank too much and slept too much. "Well," thought Gavroche, "summer nights are good. The Auvergian fell asleep in his cart. Let me give the car to the Republic, and the Auvergne Leave it to the dynasty." With a light in his heart, he had a shining idea.he thought: "This little car, put it on our barricade, that's all." The Auvergne man was snoring. Gavroche gently dragged the cart from behind, and from the front, that is to say, grabbed his feet, and dragged the Auvergian, who was lying comfortably upright at the end of a minute. on the ground. The car is unhindered. Gavroche, accustomed to taking precautions, had everything in him.From his pocket he took out a torn piece of paper and a little piece of red pencil he had found from a carpenter's. He wrote: He also signed his own name: "Gavroche". When he had finished writing, he stuffed the paper into the pocket of the corduroy vest of the still-snoring Auvergne, grabbed the handle of the cart with both hands, pushed up the cart, and galloped away in the direction of the market, taking the The jubilant little car rattled and rattled along the way. It is dangerous for him to do so.There is an outpost at the Royal Printing Office.It did not occur to Gavroche that the outpost was manned by the National Guard from the suburbs.The people in that group had been awakened somewhat, and several people's heads had been raised from the camp beds.The smashing of two street lamps in a row, coupled with the strange howling and singing, was enough. The people in those streets were timid and afraid of getting into trouble. Put on candles.For an hour the wild boy had been making noise in the neighborhood like a fly in a glass jar.The squad leader in the suburbs has already paid attention.He is waiting.He is a cautious man. The running and rolling of the car made the squad leader unbearable, and he couldn't wait any longer, so he decided to go out to inspect. "They're a lot!" he said. "I'll take my time." Apparently, the anarchist hydra has come out of its cage and is wreaking havoc in the area. Squeezing sweat, the squad leader crept out of the post. Gavroche, pushing the cart, was about to leave the Rue Vieux Audrette when he suddenly came face to face with a military uniform, a military cap, a tuft of cap, and a rifle. He stopped hastily.This is his second stop. "Oh," he said, "it's him. Hello, Public Order." Gavroche's panic was brief and passed away quickly. "Where are you going, rascal?" cried the monitor. "Citizen," said Gavroche, "I haven't called you a bourgeois yet, why do you insult me?" "Where are you going, scoundrel?" "Monsieur," continued Gavroche, "you may have been a wise man yesterday, but this morning you are out of work." "Where are you going, scoundrel, I ask?" Gavroche replied: "You have a charming talk. Indeed, I don't see how old you are. You should sell your hair for a hundred francs each. Then you will make five hundred francs." "Where are you going? Where are you going? Where are you going? Bandits!" Gavroche continued: "That's foul language. Next time you're nursed, you'll have to wipe your mouth clean." The squad leader picked up the bayonet. "Are you going to tell me where you're going, pauper?" "My general," said Gavroche, "I am going to the doctor to deliver my wife." "You're looking for death!" the squad leader roared. It is a wise man's trick to save yourself from what hurts you, and Gavroche recognized the situation at a glance.It was the car that was causing him trouble, and it was supposed to protect him. When the squad leader was about to pounce on Gavroche, the small car suddenly turned into a cannonball, and as soon as it was delivered, it rolled towards the squad leader violently, hitting him in the stomach, knocking him on the back It fell into the stinky ditch beside the street, and the rifle also fired a shot into the sky. Hearing the squad leader's yell, the people in the post rushed out like a swarm, followed the first shot, fired aimlessly, reloaded and fired again after it was fired. This hide-and-seek shooting lasted for a quarter of an hour, and several glass windows were broken. Gavroche was now running frantically backwards, and stopped five or six streets before he stopped, panting, sitting on the parapet at the corner of the Red Boy's shop. He opened his ears to listen. After taking a breath, he turned to the place where the gunfire was dense, raised his left hand to the height of his nose, and sent forward three times in a row, while hitting the back of his head with his right hand. A gesture of contempt for all that has been distilled, and the effect is obviously good, because it has been in vogue for half a century now. This joy was disturbed by a distressing thought. "Yeah," he said, "I was just cooing and giggling, and it hurt my stomach, and I laughed so hard that I lost my way and had to make a detour. I must hurry back to the barricade before I lose time! " Having said this, he set off on his way. As he ran, he said: "Oh, what part did I sing just now?" He sang his song again, and ran down the side street as he sang, dying away in the darkness:
This battle at the outpost was far from fruitless.The trolley was seized and the drunk was taken prisoner.The car was confiscated, and the man was later brought up for trial by a court-martial as an accomplice.The procuratorate at the time also showed unremitting loyalty to the protection of society around this case. In the area of the Great Temple, Gavroche's extraordinary incident has become a well-known legend, and in the memories of those bourgeois old men in the swamp area, it is also the most appalling case: the night attack on the outpost of the Royal Printing Office.
While Gavroche sang, he also gave a colorful performance.The gesture is the fulcrum of the refrain.His face has ever-changing and endless facial makeup, and the holes in the torn sheets flying in the strong wind are not as funny and unpredictable as his face.It's a pity that he is only one person, and in the dark night, no one sees him, and no one sees him.This is buried wealth. He stopped singing suddenly. "Pause the romance," he said. His feline eyes discovered in the opening of a large carriage door what was called a composition, that is to say, a drawing of a figure: the object was a cart and the figure was an Auvergne sleeping in it. The pole of the cart hit the ground, and the Auvergne's head rested on the side of the box.His body was curled up on the slanted car floor, his feet hanging down to the ground. Gavroche was experienced enough to see that the man was drunk. It was a workman pushing goods in that area, and he drank too much and slept too much. "Well," thought Gavroche, "summer nights are good. The Auvergian fell asleep in his cart. Let me give the car to the Republic, and the Auvergne Leave it to the dynasty." With a light in his heart, he had a shining idea.he thought: "This little car, put it on our barricade, that's all." The Auvergne man was snoring. Gavroche gently dragged the cart from behind, and from the front, that is to say, grabbed his feet, and dragged the Auvergian, who was lying comfortably upright at the end of a minute. on the ground. The car is unhindered. Gavroche, accustomed to taking precautions, had everything in him.From his pocket he took out a torn piece of paper and a little piece of red pencil he had found from a carpenter's. He wrote: He also signed his own name: "Gavroche". When he had finished writing, he stuffed the paper into the pocket of the corduroy vest of the still-snoring Auvergne, grabbed the handle of the cart with both hands, pushed up the cart, and galloped away in the direction of the market, taking the The jubilant little car rattled and rattled along the way. It is dangerous for him to do so.There is an outpost at the Royal Printing Office.It did not occur to Gavroche that the outpost was manned by the National Guard from the suburbs.The people in that group had been awakened somewhat, and several people's heads had been raised from the camp beds.The smashing of two street lamps in a row, coupled with the strange howling and singing, was enough. The people in those streets were timid and afraid of getting into trouble. Put on candles.For an hour the wild boy had been making noise in the neighborhood like a fly in a glass jar.The squad leader in the suburbs has already paid attention.He is waiting.He is a cautious man. The running and rolling of the car made the squad leader unbearable, and he couldn't wait any longer, so he decided to go out to inspect. "They're a lot!" he said. "I'll take my time." Apparently, the anarchist hydra has come out of its cage and is wreaking havoc in the area. Squeezing sweat, the squad leader crept out of the post. Gavroche, pushing the cart, was about to leave the Rue Vieux Audrette when he suddenly came face to face with a military uniform, a military cap, a tuft of cap, and a rifle. He stopped hastily.This is his second stop. "Oh," he said, "it's him. Hello, Public Order." Gavroche's panic was brief and passed away quickly. "Where are you going, rascal?" cried the monitor. "Citizen," said Gavroche, "I haven't called you a bourgeois yet, why do you insult me?" "Where are you going, scoundrel?" "Monsieur," continued Gavroche, "you may have been a wise man yesterday, but this morning you are out of work." "Where are you going, scoundrel, I ask?" Gavroche replied: "You have a charming talk. Indeed, I don't see how old you are. You should sell your hair for a hundred francs each. Then you will make five hundred francs." "Where are you going? Where are you going? Where are you going? Bandits!" Gavroche continued: "That's foul language. Next time you're nursed, you'll have to wipe your mouth clean." The squad leader picked up the bayonet. "Are you going to tell me where you're going, pauper?" "My general," said Gavroche, "I am going to the doctor to deliver my wife." "You're looking for death!" the squad leader roared. It is a wise man's trick to save yourself from what hurts you, and Gavroche recognized the situation at a glance.It was the car that was causing him trouble, and it was supposed to protect him. When the squad leader was about to pounce on Gavroche, the small car suddenly turned into a cannonball, and as soon as it was delivered, it rolled towards the squad leader violently, hitting him in the stomach, knocking him on the back It fell into the stinky ditch beside the street, and the rifle also fired a shot into the sky. Hearing the squad leader's yell, the people in the post rushed out like a swarm, followed the first shot, fired aimlessly, reloaded and fired again after it was fired. This hide-and-seek shooting lasted for a quarter of an hour, and several glass windows were broken. Gavroche was now running frantically backwards, and stopped five or six streets before he stopped, panting, sitting on the parapet at the corner of the Red Boy's shop. He opened his ears to listen. After taking a breath, he turned to the place where the gunfire was dense, raised his left hand to the height of his nose, and sent forward three times in a row, while hitting the back of his head with his right hand. A gesture of contempt for all that has been distilled, and the effect is obviously good, because it has been in vogue for half a century now. This joy was disturbed by a distressing thought. "Yeah," he said, "I was just cooing and giggling, and it hurt my stomach, and I laughed so hard that I lost my way and had to make a detour. I must hurry back to the barricade before I lose time! " Having said this, he set off on his way. As he ran, he said: "Oh, what part did I sing just now?" He sang his song again, and ran down the side street as he sang, dying away in the darkness:
This battle at the outpost was far from fruitless.The trolley was seized and the drunk was taken prisoner.The car was confiscated, and the man was later brought up for trial by a court-martial as an accomplice.The procuratorate at the time also showed unremitting loyalty to the protection of society around this case. In the area of the Great Temple, Gavroche's extraordinary incident has become a well-known legend, and in the memories of those bourgeois old men in the swamp area, it is also the most appalling case: the night attack on the outpost of the Royal Printing Office.