“Breakfast with us,” said Grantaire.
The child replied:—
“I can’t, I belong in the procession, I’m the one to shout ‘Down with Polignac!’”
And executing a prolonged scrape of his foot behind him, which is the most respectful of all possible salutes, he took his departure.
The child gone, Grantaire took the word:—
“That is the pure-bred gamin. There are a great many varieties of the gamin species. The notary’s gamin is called Skip-the-Gutter, the cook’s gamin is called a scullion, the baker’s gamin is called a mitron, the lackey’s gamin is called a groom, the marine gamin is called the cabin-boy, the soldier’s gamin is called the drummer-boy, the painter’s gamin is called paint-grinder, the tradesman’s gamin is called an errand-boy, the courtesan gamin is called the minion, the kingly gamin is called the dauphin, the god gamin is called the bambino.”
In the meantime, Laigle was engaged in reflection; he said half aloud:—
“A B C, that is to say: the burial of Lamarque.”
“The tall blonde,” remarked Grantaire, “is Enjolras, who is sending you a warning.”
“Shall we go?” ejaculated Bossuet.