been made, there was a sort of recumbent stone which formed a bench, and on this bench was seated the old man of the garden, while the old woman was standing in front of him. The old woman was grumbling. Gavroche, who was not very discreet, listened.
“Monsieur Mabeuf!” said the old woman.
“Mabeuf!” thought Gavroche, “that name is a perfect farce.”
The old man who was thus addressed, did not stir. The old woman repeated:—
“Monsieur Mabeuf!”
The old man, without raising his eyes from the ground, made up