He gently opened the door of the paling, assured himself that there was no passer-by in the street, went out, shut the gate cautiously after him, and ran off in the direction of the Bastille. Seven or eight minutes elapsed, eight thousand centuries for Thénardier; Babet, Brujon, and Gueulemer did not open their lips; the door opened again, and Montparnasse came in, panting and leading Gavroche. The rain continued to make the street completely deserted. Little Gavroche stepped into the enclosure and looked calmly at the faces of the bandits. The rain was dripping from his hair, and Gueulemer said to him,-- "Brat, are you a man?" Gavroche shrugged his shoulders, and replied,-- "A child like me is a man, and men like you are children." "What a well-hung tongue the brat has!" Babet exclaimed. "The boy of Paris is not made of wet paste," Brujon added. "What do you want of me?" said Gavroche. Montparnasse answered,-- "Climb up that pipe." "With this rope," Babet remarked. "And fasten it," Brujon continued. "At the top of the wall," Babet added. "To the cross-bar of the window," Brujon said, finally. "What next?" asked Gavroche. "Here it is," said Gueulemer. The gamin examined the rope, the chimney, the wall, and the window, and gave that indescribable and disdainful smack if the lips which signifies, "What is it?" "There is a man up there whom you will save," Montparnasse continued. "Are you willing?" Brujon asked. "Ass!" the lad replied, as if the question seemed to him extraordinary, and took off his shoes. Gueulemer seized Gavroche by one arm, placed him on the roof of the pent-houses, where mouldering planks bent under the boy's weight, and handed him the rope which Brujon had joined again during the absence of Montparnasse. The gamin turned to the chimney, which it was an easy task to enter by a large crevice close to the roof. At the moment when he was going to ascend, Thénardier, who saw safety and life approaching, leaned over the edge of the wall. The first gleam of day whitened his dark forehead, his livid cheek-bones, his sharp savage nose, and his bristling gray beard, and Gavroche recognized him. "Hilloh!" he said, "it's my father. Well, that won't stop me." And taking the rope between his teeth, he resolutely commenced his ascent. He reached the top of the wall, straddled across it like a horse, and securely fastened the rope to the topmost cross-bar of the window. A moment after, Thénardier was in the street. So soon as he touched the pavement, so soon as he felt himself out of danger, he was no longer wearied, chilled, or trembling. The terrible things he had passed through were dissipated like smoke, and all his strange and ferocious intellect was re-aroused, and found itself erect and free, ready to march onward. The first remark this man made was,-- "Well, whom are we going to eat?"