She had no time to think. Before she knew what was happening, he had scrambled over the wall of the barricade and vanished. Dumbly, she stared at him through the peephole, that tiny little hole in the barricade made by a bullet. She watched silent, frozen in fear as he scuttled from one body to another, filling his basket with unused ammuntion. He reminded her of some kind of monkey, quick and agile. He lay low, protected be the thick, swirling fog. Her heart thudded so hard it felt as if it would burst.

"Be careful," she murmured. Tears brimmed up in her eyes. He was still close enough to the barricade to talk to her without being heard.

"Aww, don' cry now!! I'm fine! I can take care of myself," he grumbled. She whimpered and burst into tears.

"Gavvie, don't leave me! I'm t-too s-s-scared!" She sobbed.

Gavroche looked alarmed at her tears. "N-now see hear, don' cry!" He commanded gruffly. "SSH!! I won' leave ya, don' worry. I'll be back b'fore ya know it!" he concluded cheerily.

"A-a-a-all right, b-b-b-but p-please be careful! You're m-my friend! Navet 'n me would m-miss ya sumthin fierce!" she answered, somewhat soothed.

Gavroche ran his fingers through his reddish brown hair. He gazed at her with enormous, brown eyes, and if she didn't know him better, she would've thought he looked sad.

But that passed. He grinned mischievously and winked at her. "I'll be fine, Missie, jus' quit yer worryin' an' shut yer yap b'fore ya get me shot."

She quickly shut her mouth at this terrible thought. He went back to collecting bullets. Missie watched him placidly, then realised, with a jolt of her stomach that the fog was thinning out. She wanted to yell at him, 'G'roche, get yer butt back here afore ya get caught'. But, he was tooo far away. She didn't dare yell at him. The sudden crack of gunshot startled them both. Missie drew in a sharp breath as the bullet ricocheted off the body Gavroche was looting.

He stood up and planting his hands on his hips exclaimed indignantly, "Blazes! Now they're killing dead men, too!"

Another bullet grazed the top of his cap and yet another one sent his basket toppling. He straightened his hat and scooped up the bullets and his basket. He opened his mouth and sang at full lung power.

"I'm no lawyer, I declare, it's the fault of Voltaire. I'm nothing but a sparrow, all because of Rousseau."

He sidestepped another bullet, doing a kind of dance, playing a game, laughing in the face of death. Missie trembled, her eyes enormous.

Another bullet only succeeded in drawing another verse from him.

"They're ugly at Nanterre, it's the fault of Voltaire, And stupid at Trosseau thanks to Rousseau."

His voice rang clear, pure, young, wholehearted. It was a very touching scene, enough to make Missie's heart melt. Her friend continued playing his game with death. This was how she'd remember him, she decided, brave, warmhearted, happy, and a great singer.

A fifth bullet caused him to sing more.

"There's joy in the air, thanks to Voltaire And misery below; so says Rousseau."

A ball from a musket suddely knocked him over. He lay, face pressed in the ground. Missie, terrified, started weeping. But he was strong.

He sat up, the blood streaming down his face, tears in his eyes and sang twice as strongly as before.

"I have fallen, I swear, it's the fault of Voltaire. Or else this hard blow has been dealt by..."

A second musket ball cut him short. He fell face first in the mud. Missie shrieked in anguish. Her friend would sing no more.

Trembling, she hurried over the barricade and knelt beside him tears pouring forth from her eyes. She threw herself around him, wailing, then after a long time, straightened up, stilll spluttering. She adjusted his cap and taking a small sharp rock she found, cut a lock of his hair and put it in her pocket. She kissed her friend's cheek and left the scene, shaking with tears. Had she been looking, as she walked away, she would've sworn she saw him smile, and wink.

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