Hugo opens this section with a sentimental tribute to the Parisian gamin, or street urchin. The gamin is for him a pearl of innocence hidden under outer depravity and squalor. He uses slang, talks to prostitutes, frequents bars, wears rags, sings obscene ditties, and sneers at religion. Yet for all his apparent immorality, he elicits admiration. His skepticism mocks sham and convention. It is served by a lively wit and a picturesque vocabulary. At times, when he is sufficiently aroused, the gamin rises to the sublime. To use Hugo's image, this handful of mud becomes Adam when it is sparked by the divine breath. And he is happy in spite of his wretched poverty. The street is for him an ever-exciting domain full of marvels, fraught with adventures. In the evening, he loses himself in the magic of the theater.
Nine years have elapsed since the events related in the second part. Hugo now introduces Gavroche, a boy of eleven or twelve — spirited, free, hungry, slightly larcenous, dressed in hand-me-downs, a typical Parisian urchin. There is a tragic background to his life, however. He has been callously abandoned by his parents, brutally kicked out of the nest. Yet in spite of the estrangement, every few months he goes to see his mother in the Gorbeau House. The visit is invariably depressing. Gavroche is greeted by abysmal poverty, hunger, and, worse, indifference. The conversation is laconic and matter-of-fact:
— Where have you come from?
— The street.
— Where are you going?
— Back to the street.
— Why did you come?
