“What do you want with No. 7?”
Here the child paused, he feared that he had said too much; he thrust his nails energetically into his hair and contented himself with replying:—
“Ah! Here it is.”
An idea flashed through Jean Valjean’s mind. Anguish does have these gleams. He said to the lad:—
“Are you the person who is bringing a letter that I am expecting?”
“You?” said Gavroche. “You are not a woman.”
“The letter is for Mademoiselle Cosette, is it not?”
“Cosette,” muttered Gavroche. “Yes, I believe that is the queer name.”
“Well,” resumed Jean Valjean, “I am the person to whom you are to deliver the letter. Give it here.”
“In that case, you must know that I was sent from the barricade.”
“Of course,” said Jean Valjean.
Gavroche engulfed his hand in another of his pockets and drew out a paper folded in four.
Then he made the military salute.
“Respect for despatches,” said he. “It comes from the Provisional Government.”
“Give it to me,” said Jean Valjean.
Gavroche held the paper elevated above his head.