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Updated: August 2, 2024
"Kirikikiou!" At the second cry, a clear, young, merry voice responded from the belly of the elephant: "Yes!" Almost immediately, the plank which closed the hole was drawn aside, and gave passage to a child who descended the elephant's leg, and fell briskly near the man. It was Gavroche. The man was Montparnasse.
The profile had a rose in its mouth. This second form was well known to Gavroche; it was Montparnasse. He could have told nothing about the other, except that he was a respectable old man. Gavroche immediately began to take observations. One of these two pedestrians evidently had a project connected with the other. Gavroche was well placed to watch the course of events.
All through the day the ambulances had been arriving, and all day long the ragged throng whimpered and shivered by the barriers. At noon the crowd was increased ten-fold, filling the squares about the gates, and swarming over the inner fortifications. At four o'clock in the afternoon the German batteries suddenly wreathed themselves in smoke, and the shells fell fast on Montparnasse.
Monsieur Dorinet, are you not tired of seeing La Montparnasse in that everlasting old black gown? My Rosalie says she is in mourning for her ugliness." I don't deny it; and Rosalie's mot was not bad. Monsieur, whose name I cannot pronounce, said to me: "Madame, the French, selon moi, are the best dressed and most spirituel people of Europe.
"Nous n' sommes pas le jour de l'an, "This isn't New Year's day A becoter papa, maman." To peck at pa and ma." Eponine turned to the five ruffians. "Why, it's Monsieur Brujon. Good day, Monsieur Babet. Good day, Monsieur Claquesous. Don't you know me, Monsieur Guelemer? How goes it, Montparnasse?" "Yes, they know you!" ejaculated Thenardier. "But good day, good evening, sheer off! leave us alone!"
Tens of thousands of Parisians throng the railway stations, seeking their turn to buy tickets to points outside the city. At the Gare de Lyon, Montparnasse, d'Orsay, d'Orleans, people are standing in lines ten abreast and a quarter of a mile in length, waiting for hours and hours to book for Bordeaux, Biarritz, Brest, Rennes, or Nantes.
The cab swung around the rue de Medici, turned into the rue de Vaugirard, followed it to where it crosses the rue de Rennes, and taking that noisy thoroughfare, drew up before the Gare Montparnasse. They were just in time for a train and scampered up the stairway and out to the cars as the last note from the starting-gong rang through the arched station.
As they went, Montparnasse 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?" "Have you the key to the gate, Thenardier?" "Pardi."
Finding that he was handsome, he desired to be elegant: now, the height of elegance is idleness; idleness in a poor man means crime. Few prowlers were so dreaded as Montparnasse. At eighteen, he had already numerous corpses in his past. More than one passer-by lay with outstretched arms in the presence of this wretch, with his face in a pool of blood.
The Bois was more to his taste, for he could stretch his horse's legs; but every day he could be found before some simple cafe in Montparnasse, sipping vermouth, and watching the gay, light life about him.
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