THE HUNCHBACK OF  NOTRE  DAME.
rates the prow of the city from the poop of the
isle of Notre Dame, which we now call the isle
of St. Louis.
"By the by, master " Gringoire began again ab-
ruptly, "at the moment when we had passed
through the enraged rabble and reached the Par-
vis, did you remark that unlucky little wight,
whose brains your hunchback was in a fair way
to dash out against the balustrade of the gallery
of the Kings ? I am too near-sighted to recognize
him.   Perchance you know who it was."
The unknown answered not a word. But he
suddenly ceased rowing, his arms sank, as if
broken, his head dropped upon his breast, and
la Esmeralda heard him sigh convulsively. She
had heard sighs of that kindhefore.
The skiff, left to itself, drifted for some mo-
ments at the will of the current. At length, the
man in black roused himself, and again began
pulling against the stream. He doubled the
point of the isle of Notre Dame and rowed toward
the landing place of the Port-au-Foin.
" Ah," said Gringoire, " yonder is the logis Bar-
beau. Only look, master, at that group of black
roofs which form such singular angles—there, be-
neath that mass of low, streaky, dirty-looking
¦clouds, in which the moon appears
smashed and spread about like the
yolk of a broken egg. 'Tis a goodly
mansion that ! It has a chapel, with
vaulted roof, beautified with excel-
lent sculptures. You may see above
it the belfry, with its rare and deli-
cate tracery. There is also a pleasant
garden, containing a fish-pond, an
aviary, an echo, a mall, a maze, a
house for wild beasts, and many
.shady alleys particularly agreeable to
Venus. There is likewise a rogue of
a tree called 'The Lovers' Tree,' be-
cause it served for the trysting place
of a famous princess and a gay and
witty constable of France. Alas ! we
poor philosophers are to a constable
what a bed of cabbages or turnips is
to a grove of laurels. What signifies
it after all ! For the great, as for
us, life is a medley of good and ill.
Pain is ever by the side of pleasure as
the spondee by the dactyl. I must
tell you the history of the logis Bar-
beau, master : it finished in a tragi-
cal way. It was in 1319, under Philip
V, who reigned longer than any
other King of France. The moral of
the history is that the temptations of
the flesh are hurtful and pernicious.
Beware of looking too hard at the
wife of your neighbor, much as your
senses may be struck by her beauty.
Zounds! what an uproar they are
making yonder ! "
The tumult around Notre Dame
was in fact raging with increased
vehemence. They listened. Shouts of
victory were distinctly heard. All at
once, a hundred torches, which made
the helmets of the men-at-arms
glisten, appeared on all parts of the
church, on the towers, the galleries,
the flying buttresses. These torches
seemed to be employed in searching
after some thing ; and presently dis-
tant shouts of 'rThe Egyptian !—the
sorceress—death to the Egyptian!"
were plainly heard by the fugitives.
The unhappy girl drooped her head
upon her hands, and the unknown
began to row furiously toward the
shore. Our philosopher was mean-
while musing. He hugged the goat
in his arms, and sidled gently away
from the Bohemian, who pressed
closer and closer to him, as to the only asylum
that was now left her.
It is certain that Gringoire was in a cruel
dilemma. He considered that, as the law then
stood, the goat would be hanged too if she were
retaken ; that it would be a great pity—poor dear
wall 1-i-that two condemned ones thus clinging
J° P!m were more than he eould manage ; that,
pendes, his companion desired nothing better
Mian to take charge of the Egyptian. A violent
connict ensued among his thoughts, in which,
nice Homer's Jupiter, he weighed by turns the
Egyptian and the goat ; and he looked first at one
and teen at the other, with eyes brimful of tears,
muttering at the same time between his teeth :
f 7et I can not save you both ! "
A shock apprised them that the skiff had reached
tne shore. The city still rang with the appalling
uproar, rhe unknown rose, stepped up to the
fSmum, and offered her his arm to assist her to
S„ ¦ re,tused h and clung to the sleeve of
Sg„.lre' Tho',on Us Part. engaged with the
SA!08,1 Pushe(i her away. She then sprang
th-rt lh ?elp out 0I the boat- She was so alarmed
sK -w not what she was doing or whither
with T8 g0lngi She stood stupefied fora moment,
to hi™ Leyes, ^^ on the water. When she came
the 7, t a Uttle she was alone on the quay with
taker. c5now7 U appeared that Gringoire had
awn?,?d,lanutage of "w instant of landing to steal
conmr.rf if ??at among the cluster of houses
CompoSmg «ie Bue Grenitr-sur-1'Eau.
ue Poor Egyptian shuddered on finding herself
G5
out" to can rl^-n- lhe 8tr0TO to speak, to cry
office and1 &ÂZ* \ ^Ut hSr tongue refused its
at once sh« fpit th°Und Tued from her lips. All
here    Her tee h ih6^"^01 the «"known upon
w^etegdogWu: t0 her " -meT/sl^st
She looked around on all sides.  Not a passenser
55? h° bd86en- The ^ was absolute1yPSrtged
of men b„rin80thnd't8he f?erceived ™ movement
?7 v.- u în the tumultuous and roaring city
Zlflhe wasParted only by an arm ofThe
Seine, and whence her name, mingled with cries
of death, was wafted to the ear? The rest of
ihade.              red ar°Und herinvast masses of
Meanwhile the unknown continued to drag her
along with the same silence and the same rapidity
She had no recollection of the places through
A SKEIETQN ARM THBUST THROUGH A HOLE IN THE WALL.
which he took her. In passing a lighted window
she suddenly made an effort to resist, and cried,
"Help, help!"
The window opened ; the inmate of the room
appeared at it in his shirt and nightcap, with a
lamp in his hand, looked out with drowsy eyes
upon the quay, muttered a few words whicli she
could not catch, and reclosed the window. She
felt as though the last glimmer of hope was ex-
tinguished.
The man in black uttered not a syllable : he
held her tightly, and began to quicken his pace.
She ceased to resist, and followed him spiritless
and helpless.
From time to time she mustered a little strength,
and in a voice broken from the jolting of the rug-
ged pavement, and from her being out of breath,
owing to the rapid rate at whicli she was drawn
along, she asked, "Whoare you ?—who are you ?"
He made no reply.
Proceeding thus along the quay, they arrived at
a large open space. The moon shone faintly. It
was the Grève. In the middle of it stood a sort
of black cross—it was the gibbet. She now knew
where she was.
The man stopped, turned toward her, and raised
his cowl. " Oh ! " stammered she, petrified with
horror, " I knew that it must be he ! "
It was in truth the priest. He looked like a
ghost. Moonlight produces this effect. It seems
as if by that light one beholds only the specters of
objects.
" List to me," said .he, and she shuddered at the
f7nj ?',*at fatal voice, whieh she had not heard
for so long a time. He continued with frequent
pauses and in broken sentences which betoken
violent inward agitation ; "list to me ! Here we
are. I would speak to thee. This is the Grave
We go no farther. Fate delivers us up into thé
hands of each other Thy life is at my disposal*
my soul at thine. Here is a place and a night
beyond which one sees nothing: List to me thin
toTpîol™^6 ^ T ^«otaword'aboS
thy Phoebus-" as he spoke he paced to and fro
like a man who can not remain quietly on one
spot, and drew her after him-" talk not to me of
hln\ TIfuth,°ï but "tterest that name, I know not
what I shall do; but it will be terrible."
Haying proceeded thus far, like a body recover-
™%Jf wnte70f ?raIity' he stood still, but his
words betrayed not the less perturbation. His
voice became more and more faint.
Turn not thy head from me thus. List to me.
Jwai?erl0U8 b«siness. First, I would tell thee
rSl t t8 Passed. It is not a thing to laugh at, I
protest to thee.   But what was f saying ?   Ah.
™hlAn °^der .?* been lssued by the Parliament
which consigns thee again to the gallows.  I have
rescued thee from their hands.   But vonder they
are searching for thee.  Look."
He pointed toward the city. It was
evident, in fact, that the search was
continued. The noise drew nearer.
The tower of the lieutenant's house,
facing the Grève, was full of bustle
and lights ; and soldiers might be
seen running on the opposite quay
with torches, shouting, " The Egyp-
tian ! where is the Egyptian ? Death !
death ! "
" Thou seest that they are in pur-
suit of thee, and that I am not de-
ceiving thee. Maiden, I love thee!
Open not thy lips; answer me not,
if it is to tell me that thou hatest me.
I am determined not to hear that. I
have aided thine escape. Let me
complete the work. I can save thee.
Every thing is prepared. All de-
pends on thy will. Whatever thou
wilt shall be done."
He interrupted himself with ve-
hemence—" No ! that is not what I
meant to say." Then running, and
drawing her along after him, for he
still kept hold of her, he went straight
to the foot of the gibbet, and, point-
ing to it, said coldly: "Choose be-
tween us."
She tore herself from his grip,
and, throwing herself on the pave-
ment, clasped the foot of the fatal
machine; then, half turning her
head, she looked over her shoulder at
the priest. The priest stood motion-
less, his finger still raised toward the
gibbet, like a statue.
" I feel less horror of that than of
you," at length said the Egyptian.
He slowly dropped his arm, and
cast his eyes upon the pavement in
deep dejection. "Yes," said he; "it
these stones could speak, they would
say—'There is the most miserable ot
men ! ' "
" I love you," he again began. The
girl, kneeling before the gibbet, cov-
ered by her long flowing hair, al-
lowed him to proceed without inter-
ruption. His accent was now soft
and plaintive, wofully contrasting
with the lofty sternness of his fea-
tures.
"I love you. Nothing can be
more true. No fire can be fiercer
than that which consumes my
heart. Ah ! maiden, night and day--yes, night
and day—doth this claim no pity ? Tis a love, a
torture, night and day, I tell thee. Oh ! my dear
girl, 't is an agony worthy of compassion, I assure
thee. 1 would speak kindly to thee, thou seest. I
would have thee not feel such horror of me. And
then, if a man loves a woman it is not his fault.
What ! thou wilt never take compassion on me,
then ? Thou wilt hate me for ever ? 'T is this
that makes me cruel—ay, hateful to myself ! Thou
wilt not even deign to look at me. Thou art
thinking perhaps of something else, while I am
talking to thee and trembling on the brink of the
eternity of both. At any rate, talk not to me of
thine officer! Were I to throw myself at thy
knees; were I to kiss, not thy feet—thou wouldst
not suffer me—but the ground beneath them;
were I to sob like a child, and to tear from my
bosom not words, but my heart and my entrails,
to tell thee how I love thee, all would be in vain—
all !—And yet thou hast m thy soul nought but
what is kind and tender. Thou art all goodness,
all gentleness, all compassion, all charms. Alas !
to me alone art thou unfeeling. Oh ! what a
fatality.»
He buried his face in his hands. La Esmeralda
heard him weep ; it was for the first time. His
figure, thus upright and shaken by sobs, was more
pitiable and more humble than if he had knelt.
He continued to weep thus for some time.
"Alas ! " he proceeded, this first paroxysm over,
"lam at a loss for words. And yet I had well
pondered what I should say to thee.  Now I

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