A/N: I've used some words of argot (Parisian gutter-talk) in this piece, so here's a list of most of them so that you can get an idea of what's being said.
Momignard, Momacque, Môme – child
Harnache – fool
Larton savonne – white bread
Tout pour un morceau de larton (All for a mouthful of bread)
They turned another corner and found themselves in a street just like every other one they had walked through that day.
"Alex?"
"Yes, Théo?"
"Are we lost?"
"No, momignard. I think we'll find it soon."
"But Alex, I'm hungry. And my feet hurt. I want maman." The last words were lost in the beginning of a sob.
"Tais-toi. The police nab mômes who cry too much."
That was enough to silence the smaller child. Alex has started using argot a while back, and had found it useful in keeping his younger brother in line. And, though he hadn't realised it himself, it gave him confidence. When he spoke this hideous dialect, he felt almost as brave and daring as Monsieur. That was the only name they knew him by, that gamin who had taken them in and given them the only meal they had had since losing their home. Not that these few scattered words could be considered true argot, of course, but to Alex, it didn't matter.
Monsieur had sent them out to the streets that morning, telling them to return in the evening if they hadn't found their maman. They had been wandering the streets of Paris ever since then, turning corners randomly in the hope of seeing some building, some face that they remembered having seen before. Now, the blue of the sky was deepening, and they had not seen anything which aided them in their search.
Alex had kept up this strong façade during their wanderings, but he was just as scared as Théo. He had long since lost track of the streets they had taken since leaving the elephant, and was now straining to think what Monsieur would do in their situation.
It was hopeless. He knew that Monsieur would never have been lost in the first place. Monsieur knew Paris, and had friends beneath every stone. Alex and Théo had nothing.
Alex's step had hastened as his panic had increased, and he felt Théo stumble, almost falling. This frenzied search was taking its toll on the child. Alex glanced at the sky and saw the first stars of the evening opening their eyes. It was time for them to find somewhere to sleep, or as Monsieur would say, 'pioncer'.
He led the little one down a street slightly darker than the others, hoping to find a dark corner where they could hide together for the night.
A quiet sob came to their ears from a crumpled heap in a doorway. The children crept closer, and saw that it was a girl not much larger than themselves, weeping into her hands.
Alex reached out to her timidly.
"Madame, why is it you cry?" he asked.
The sob turned into a rasping laugh, and the girl raised her face towards the children, loosing upon them a hideous expression which could have been a smile or a toothless snarl, before slipping past them and scurrying into the molten darkness of the night.
The boys continued down the street, Alex's arm now around Théo's shoulders, both children huddling together for warmth and comfort.
They heard voices ahead, and turned a corner to see a man and lady talking together. Alex, emboldened by his fear, approached the lady and tugged at her skirt.
"We are hungry, and have no place to sleep tonight," he said in a pleading tone.
Both of the adults stopped and stared down at this tiny intruder and the even small one who huddled behind him.
The man sneered up at the woman.
"You didn't tell me you have brats, wench."
"Monsieur, they are not mine. They must be strays."
"Then why do they hang around you? I don't want to pay for worn goods. Find yourself another harnache to dupe."
The woman watched him stride away, her face an image of despair, then turned on the children.
"See what you have done, mômes? You have cost me my dinner for the week. You are lucky you are so scrawny, or I would eat you instead!"
Terrified, the children fled through the streets, fear giving them the strength to run when they could but barely walk.
They had been going thus for an eternity when their flight was abruptly stopped by a large hand on the back of each of their necks.
"Well," said a rough voice behind them. "What flies into my hands today? It seems to be a pair of mômes. Now, what would a pair of well-dressed mômes like you be doing on the streets of Paris this evening?"
"Monsieur, don't hurt us. I beg of you. We have lost our maman, and we cannot find Monsieur, and we are cold and hungry and scared."
"Hurt you?" The grip on their necks was released, and the voice took on a more tender tone which gave them the courage to turn, trembling, to face their assailant. "Now, I wouldn't do that. Although there are men about who pay to hurt little mômes like you. Aren't you glad I'm not one of those! Now, you are hungry, you say? What luck that I have some stew and nice larton savonne sitting at home. Why don't you come and eat with me?"
The children nodded mutely and followed this man through the dark streets of Paris. They finally came to a squalid building with grimy walls and many closed doors, from behind which came noises like the cries of pained beasts. The children didn't perceive any of this, only thinking of the food and bed which they have been promised.
The man sat them on a wooden bench, and placed before each a bowl of cold stew and a lump of stale bread, which seemed to them to be a fine feast.
"Eat, momacques. I'll go and see about a bed for you."
Hearing someone entering from the street, he hurried back to the front of the building and greeted the newcomer.
"Ah, M. Pavantois! I was just hoping you might stop by tonight. I have two new arrivals which I think will please you quite well…"
Ignorant of the dialogue, the older of the boys spoke up suddenly. "You know, Théo, I believe it is my birthday today. Today I am eight years old."