“There is the sun.”
“The butcher refuses to give credit; he will not let us have any more meat.”
“That is quite right. I do not digest meat well. It is too heavy.”
“What shall we have for dinner?”
“Bread.”
“The baker demands a settlement, and says, ‘no money, no bread.’ ”
“That is well.”
“What will you eat?”
“We have apples in the apple-room.”
“But, Monsieur, we can’t live like that without money.”
“I have none.”
The old woman went away, the old man remained alone. He fell into thought. Gavroche became thoughtful also. It was almost dark.
The first result of Gavroche’s meditation was, that instead of scaling the hedge, he crouched down under it. The branches stood apart a little at the foot of the thicket.
“Come,” exclaimed Gavroche mentally, “here’s a nook!” and he curled up in it. His back was almost in contact with Father Mabeuf’s bench. He could hear the octogenarian breathe.