"What does this mean?"
In danger the porcupine bristles, the beetle feigns death, the old guard forms a square. This man began laughing. Then he flipped a grain of dust off his coat-sleeve. Marius continued,—
"You are also the workman Jondrette, the actor Fabantou, the poet Genflot, the Spanish Don Alvares, and Madame Balizard."
"Madame who?"
"And you once kept a pot-house at Montfermeil."
"A pot-house! Never."
"And I tell you that you are Thénardier."
"I deny it."
"And that you are a scoundrel. Take that."
And Marius, taking a bank-note from his pocket, threw it in his face.