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Updated: June 6, 2025
She did her best not to turn aside with too much repugnance when he came to bring her her basket of provisions or her jug of water, but he always perceived the slightest movement of this sort, and then he withdrew sadly. Once he came at the moment when she was caressing Djali.
The young girl smiled and seemed to be gazing through the wall at something. All at once she began to sing in a barely articulate voice, Quando las pintadas aves, Mudas estan, y la tierra * * When the gay-plumaged birds grow weary, and the earth She broke off abruptly, and began to caress Djali. "That's a pretty animal of yours," said Gringoire. "She is my sister," she answered.
Suddenly it caught sight of the gypsy girl, and leaping over the table and the head of a clerk, in two bounds it was at her knees; then it rolled gracefully on its mistress's feet, soliciting a word or a caress; but the accused remained motionless, and poor Djali himself obtained not a glance. "Eh, why 'tis my villanous beast," said old Falourdel, "I recognize the two perfectly!"
"There must be an end to this!" he said, gnashing his teeth. She was conquered, palpitating in his arms, and in his power. She felt a wanton hand straying over her. She made a last effort, and began to cry: "Help! Help! A vampire! a vampire!" Nothing came. Djali alone was awake and bleating with anguish. "Hush!" said the panting priest.
She called Djali, took her between her knees, and smoothed the long, delicate head, saying, "Come, kiss mistress; you have no troubles." Then noting the melancholy face of the graceful animal, who yawned slowly, she softened, and comparing her to herself, spoke to her aloud as to somebody in trouble whom one is consoling.
But there stood beside him a black figure veiled from head to foot, which struck her by its silence. "Oh!" continued Gringoire in a tone of reproach, "Djali recognized me before you!" The little goat had not, in fact, waited for Gringoire to announce his name.
He kept them fixed incessantly on the gypsy, and, while the giddy young girl of sixteen danced and whirled, for the pleasure of all, his revery seemed to become more and more sombre. From time to time, a smile and a sigh met upon his lips, but the smile was more melancholy than the sigh. The young girl, stopped at length, breathless, and the people applauded her lovingly. "Djali!" said the gypsy.
These Bohemians are something like Guebrs, and adore the sun. Hence, Phoebus." "That does not seem so clear to me as to you, Master Pierre." "After all, that does not concern me. Let her mumble her Phoebus at her pleasure. One thing is certain, that Djali loves me almost as much as he does her." "Who is Djali?" "The goat."
Then the philosopher setting his lantern on the ground, crouched upon the stones, and exclaimed enthusiastically, as he pressed Djali in his arms, "Oh! 'tis a graceful beast, more considerable no doubt, for it's neatness than for its size, but ingenious, subtle, and lettered as a grammarian! Let us see, my Djali, hast thou forgotten any of thy pretty tricks? How does Master Jacques Charmolue?..."
Fortunately, he speedily found it again, and he knotted it together without difficulty, thanks to the gypsy, thanks to Djali, who still walked in front of him; two fine, delicate, and charming creatures, whose tiny feet, beautiful forms, and graceful manners he was engaged in admiring, almost confusing them in his contemplation; believing them to be both young girls, from their intelligence and good friendship; regarding them both as goats, so far as the lightness, agility, and dexterity of their walk were concerned.
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