"There's something the matter with her," said Babet; "some reason for it. Is she fond of the cab? It's a pity to miss the affair. There are two women who live alone, an old cove who lives in a yard, and very decent curtains up to the windows. The old swell must be a sheney, and I consider the affair a good one." "Well, do you fellows go in," Montparnasse exclaimed, "and do the trick. I will remain here with the girl, and if she stirs--" He let the knife which he held in his hand glisten in the lamp-light. Thénardier did not say a word, and seemed ready for anything they pleased. Brujon, who was a bit of an oracle, and who, as we know, "put up the job," had not yet spoken, and seemed thoughtful. He was supposed to recoil at nothing, and it was notorious that he had plundered a police office through sheer bravado. Moreover, he wrote verses and songs, which gave him a great authority. Babet questioned him. "Have you nothing to say, Brujon?" Brujon remained silent for a moment, then tossed his head in several different ways, and at length decided on speaking,-- "Look here. I saw this morning two sparrows fighting, and to-night I stumble over a quarrelsome woman: all that is bad, so let us be off." They went away, and while doing so Montparnasse muttered,-- "No matter; if you had been agreeable I would have cut her throat." Babet replied,-- "I wouldn't; for I never strike a lady." At the corner of the street they stopped, and exchanged in a low voice this enigmatical dialogue. "Where shall we go and sleep to-night?" "Under Pantin [Paris]." "Have you your key about you, Thénardier?" "Of course." Éponine, who did not take her eyes off them, saw them return by the road along which they had come. She rose and crawled after them, along the walls and the houses. She followed them thus along the boulevard; there they separated, and she saw the six men bury themselves in the darkness, where they seemed to fade away. CHAPTER V. THINGS OF THE NIGHT.