As Gavroche walked along, he cast an indignant backward glance at the barber''s shop.
"That fellow has no heart, the whiting,"[35] he muttered. "He''s an Englishman."
[35] Merlan:
a sobriquet given to hairdressers because they are white with powder.
A woman who caught sight of these three marching in a file, with Gavroche at their head, burst into noisy laughter.
This laugh was wanting in respect towards the group.
"Good day, Mamselle Omnibus," said Gavroche to her.
An instant later, the wig-maker occurred to his mind once more, and he added:--
"I am making a mistake in the beast; he''s not a whiting, he''s a serpent.
Barber, I''ll go and fetch a locksmith, and I''ll have a bell hung to your tail."
This wig-maker had rendered him aggressive.
As he strode over a gutter, he apostrophized a bearded portress who was worthy to meet Faust on the Brocken, and who had a broom in her hand.
"Madam," said he, "so you are going out with your horse?"
And thereupon, he spattered the polished boots of a pedestrian.
"You scamp!" shouted the furious pedestrian.
Gavroche elevated his nose above his shawl.
"Is Monsieur complaining?"
"Of you!" ejaculated the man.
"The office is closed," said Gavroche, "I do not receive any more complaints."
In the meanwhile, as he went on up the street, he perceived a beggar-girl, thirteen or fourteen years old, and clad in so short a gown that her knees were visible, lying thoroughly chilled under a porte-cochere. The little girl was getting to be too old for such a thing.