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 to anything. at marengo, i received two sabre-blows on the back of my neck, a bullet in the right arm at austerlitz, another in the left hip at jena. at friedland, a thrust from a bayonet, there,--at the moskowa seven or eight lance-thrusts, no matter where, at lutzen a splinter of a shell crushed one of my fingers. ah! and then at waterloo, a ball from a biscaien in the thigh, that's all.""how fine that is!" exclaimed the hair-dresser, in pindaric accents, "to die on the field of battle! on my word of honor, rather than die in bed, of an illness, slowly, a bit by bit each day, with drugs, cataplasms, syringes, medicines, i should prefer to receive a cannon-ball in my belly!"
"you're not over fastidious," said the soldier.
he had hardly spoken when a fearful crash shook the shop. the show-window had suddenly been fractured.
the wig-maker turned pale.
"ah, good god!" he exclaimed, "it's one of them!"
"what?"
"a cannon-ball."
"here it is," said the soldier.
and he picked up something that was rolling about the floor. it was a pebble.
the hair-dresser ran to the broken window and beheld gavroche fleeing at the full speed, towards the marche saint-jean. as he passed the hair-dresser's shop gavroche, who had the two brats still in his mind, had not been able to resist the impulse to say good day to him, and had flung a stone through his panes.
"you see!" shrieked the hair-dresser, who from white had turned blue, "that fellow returns and does mischief for the pure pleasure of it. what has any one done to that gamin?"
从前撵走过伽弗洛什以慈父心肠收容在大象肚子里的那两个孩子的理发师，这时正在店里替一个曾在帝国时期服役的老军人刮胡子，他们同时也谈着话。理发师当然免不了向那老兵谈到这次起义，继又谈到拉马克将军，从拉马克将军又转到了皇帝。这是一个理发师和一个士兵的谈话。普律多姆当时如果在场，他一定会进行艺术加工，题为《剃刀与马刀的对话》。
“先生，”那理发师说，“皇上骑马的本领高明吧？”
“不高明。他不知道从马上下来。但也从没有跌下来过。”
“他有不少好马吧？他应当有不少好马吧？”
“他赐十字勋章给我的那天，我仔细看了看他那牲口。那是一匹雌的跑马，浑身全白。两只耳朵分得很开，脊梁凹。细长的头上有一颗黑星，脖子很长，膝骨非常突出，肋宽，肩斜，臀部壮大。比十五个巴尔姆1稍高一点。”
1巴尔姆（palme），意大利民间的一种长度计算单位，随地区而异。
“好漂亮的马。”理发师说。
“是皇帝陛下的牲口。”
理发师感到在听到这样的称号之后稍稍肃静一下是适当的。他这样做了以后，接着又说：
“皇上只受过一次伤，不是吗，先生？”
老军人以一个当时目击者所应有的平静庄严口吻回答说：
“脚跟上。在雷根斯堡战场。我从没有见过他穿得象那天那样讲究。他那天洁净得象个新的苏。
“您呢，退伍军人先生，您总免不了要常常挂点彩吧。”
“我，”那军人说，“啊！没有什么大了不起的。在马伦哥我脖子后给人砍了两刀，在奥斯特里茨右臂吃过一颗枪弹，在耶拿左边屁股也吃过一颗，在弗里德兰挨了一刺刀，刺在……这儿，在莫斯科河，胡乱挨了七、八下长矛，在吕岑一颗开花弹炸掉了我的一个手指……啊！还有，在滑铁卢，一统打在我的大腿上。就这些。”
“这有多好，”理发师带着铿锵的语调高声赞叹着，“死在战场上，有多好！我说句真心话，与其害病，吃药，贴膏药，灌肠，请医生，搞到身体一天不如一天，躺在一张破床上慢悠悠地死去，我宁肯在肚子上挨一炮弹！”
“您不怕难受。”那军人说。
他的话刚说完，一种爆破声，好不吓人，震撼着那店子。橱窗上的一大块玻璃突然开了花。
“啊，天主！”他喊着说，“当真就来了一颗！”
“一颗什么？”
“炮弹。”
“就在这儿。”那军人说。
他拾起一颗正在地上滚着的什么，是一颗圆石子。
理发师奔向碎了的玻璃，看见伽弗洛什正朝着圣约翰市场飞跑。他从理发店门前走过时心里正想着那两个小朋友，抑制不住要向他问好的愿望便朝着他的玻璃橱窗扔了块石头。
“您瞧见了！”那脸色已由白转青的理发师吼着说，“这家伙为作恶而作恶。难道是我惹了他，这野孩子？”