Then he turned to the elder:--
"Hey!
We''re jolly comfortable here, ain''t we?"
"Ah, yes!" replied the elder, gazing at Gavroche with the expression of a saved angel.
The two poor little children who had been soaked through, began to grow warm once more.
"Ah, by the way," continued Gavroche, "what were you bawling about?"
And pointing out the little one to his brother:--
"A mite like that, I''ve nothing to say about, but the idea of a big fellow like you crying!
It''s idiotic; you looked like a calf."
"Gracious, replied the child, "we have no lodging."
"Bother!" retorted Gavroche, "you don''t say `lodgings,'' you say `crib.''"
"And then, we were afraid of being alone like that at night."
"You don''t say `night,'' you say `darkmans.''"
"Thank you, sir," said the child.
"Listen," went on Gavroche, "you must never bawl again over anything. I''ll take care of you.
You shall see what fun we''ll have. In summer, we''ll go to the Glaciere with Navet, one of my pals, we''ll bathe in the Gare, we''ll run stark naked in front of the rafts on the bridge at Austerlitz,--that makes the laundresses raging. They scream, they get mad, and if you only knew how ridiculous they are! We''ll go and see the man-skeleton. And then I''ll take you to the play. I''ll take you to see Frederick Lemaitre.