“Mother Plutarque!” thought Gavroche, “another farcical name.”

Mother Plutarque began again, and the old man was forced to accept the conversation:⁠—

“The landlord is not pleased.”

“Why?”

“We owe three quarters rent.”

“In three months, we shall owe him for four quarters.”

“He says that he will turn you out to sleep.”

“I will go.”

“The greengrocer insists on being paid. She will no longer leave her fagots. What will you warm yourself with this winter? We shall have no wood.”

“There is the sun.”