“Courage! more paving-stones! more casks! more machines! Where are you now? A hod of plaster for me to stop this hole with! Your barricade is very small. It must be carried up. Put everything on it, fling everything there, stick it all in. Break down the house. A barricade is Mother Gibou’s tea. Hullo, here’s a glass door.”

This elicited an exclamation from the workers.

“A glass door? what do you expect us to do with a glass door, tubercle?”

“Hercules yourselves!” retorted Gavroche. “A glass door is an excellent thing in a barricade. It does not prevent an attack, but it prevents the enemy taking it. So you’ve never prigged apples over a wall where there were broken bottles? A glass door cuts the corns of the National Guard when they try to mount on the barricade. Pardi! glass is a treacherous thing. Well, you haven’t a very wildly lively imagination, comrades.”

However, he was furious over his triggerless pistol. He went from one to another, demanding: “A gun, I want a gun! Why don’t you give me a gun?”