“She’s well. I don’t know, let me alone, and be off, I tell you.”
“I won’t go, so there now,” pouted Éponine like a spoiled child; “you send me off, and it’s four months since I saw you, and I’ve hardly had time to kiss you.”
And she caught her father round the neck again.
“Come, now, this is stupid!” said Babet.
“Make haste!” said Guelemer, “the cops may pass.”
The ventriloquist’s voice repeated his distich:—
“Nous n’ sommes pas le jour de l’an,
A bécoter papa, maman.”
“This isn’t New Year’s day
To peck at pa and ma.”
Éponine 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 Thénardier. “But good day, good evening, sheer off! leave us alone!”