As he grasped the shoulders of this boy, he thought of another boy whose shoulders he had grasped, older than this one, but still far too young. He had pleaded with the boy to live, that he was needed, his passion was needed in this world. It was far too soon for him to die, for all those boys of the barricade.
The blond had been surprised (had no one told him how important his life was?) but had agreed to try. Yet it had done nothing. That boy had died, they all had died, the children of the barricade. All but Marius, who he had taken back to safety, and the boy in front of him, Gavroche. For this child's sake, and for the sake of the two younger boys behind him, he hoped this time his words would make a difference