not called Gringalet in mere sport; he was dwarfish and puny, and reedy; no
one would have given him over seven or eight years, yet he was thirteen;
but if he did not look more than half his age, it was not his fault, for he
had not on the average eaten more than every other day, and then so little,
and so bad, that he really did very well to appear to be seven."

"Poor babby, I think I see him," said the prisoner in the blue cap; "there
are so many like him on the streets of Paris, little starved-to-deaths."

"They ought to begin to learn that trade young," replied Pique-Vinaigre,
bitterly; "so that they can become used to it."

"Come, go on then, make haste," said Skeleton, gruffly; "the keeper is
impatient, his soup is growing cold."

"Oh, bah! never mind," answered the keeper; "I wish to make a little more
acquaintance with Gringalet. It is amusing."

"Really, it is very interesting," added Germain, attentive to the story.

"Oh, thank you for what you say, my capitalist; that gives me more pleasure
than your ten sous."

"Thunder! you sluggard!" cried the Skeleton. "Will you have done keeping us
waiting?"

"Here goes!" answered Pique-Vinaigre.

"One day Cut-in-half had picked up Gringalet in the street, dying with cold
and hunger; he would have done just as well to let him alone to die. As