The worthy hair-dresser who had chased from his shop the two little fellows to whom Gavroche had opened the paternal interior of the elephant was at that moment in his shop engaged in shaving an old soldier of the legion who had served under the Empire. They were talking.
The hair-dresser had, naturally, spoken to the veteran of the riot, then of General Lamarque, and from Lamarque they had passed to the Emperor.
Thence sprang up a conversation between barber and soldier which Prudhomme, had he been present, would have enriched with arabesques, and which he would have entitled: 'Dialogue between the razor and the sword. ' 'How did the Emperor ride, sir? ' said the barber. 'Badly.
He did not know how to fall—so he never fell. ' 'Did he have fine horses? He must have had fine horses! ' 'On the day when he gave me my cross, I noticed his beast. It was a racing mare, perfectly white.
Her ears were very wide apart, her saddle deep, a fine head marked with a black star, a very long neck, strongly articulated knees, prominent ribs, oblique shoulders and a powerful crupper. A little more than fifteen hands in height. ' 'A pretty horse,' remarked the hair-dresser.
'It was His Majesty’s beast. ' The hair-dresser felt, that after this observation, a short silence would be fitting, so he conformed himself to it, and then went on:— 'The Emperor was never wounded but once, was he, sir?
' The old soldier replied with the calm and sovereign tone of a man who had been there:— 'In the heel. At Ratisbon. I never saw him so well dressed as on that day. He was as neat as a new sou. ' 'And you, Mr.
Veteran, you must have been often wounded? ' 'I? ' said the soldier, 'ah! not to amount