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* A coffer of great richness In a pillar's heart they found, Within it lay new banners, With figures to astound. And an instant afterwards, at the accents which she imparted to this stanza, Alarabes de cavallo Sin poderse menear, Con espadas, y los cuellos, Ballestas de buen echar, Gringoire felt the tears start to his eyes.
The soldiers left the room with him, pushing him before them with stout thwacks, which Gringoire bore like a true stoical philosopher. The king's good humor since the revolt against the bailiff had been announced to him, made itself apparent in every way. This unwonted clemency was no small sign of it.
Nothing was lacking, not even the rope, which swung gracefully over the cross-beam. "What are they going to do?" Gringoire asked himself with some uneasiness.
Any one who has thrown a stone into a frog pond, or fired a shot into a covey of birds, can form an idea of the effect produced by these incongruous words, in the midst of the general attention. It made Gringoire shudder as though it had been an electric shock.
"I'll search anything you like," said Gringoire. Clopin made a sign. Several thieves detached themselves from the circle, and returned a moment later.
"Truly!" replied the poet, bridling a little; "that is, to say, there are two of us; Jehan Marchand, who has sawed the planks and erected the framework of the theatre and the woodwork; and I, who have made the piece. My name is Pierre Gringoire." The author of the "Cid" could not have said "Pierre Corneille" with more pride.
"Monsieur," replied the neighbor, "those on the right are the counsellors of the grand chamber; those on the left, the councillors of inquiry; the masters in black gowns, the messires in red." "Who is that big red fellow, yonder above them, who is sweating?" pursued Gringoire. "It is monsieur the president."
"Witness, two men went upstairs together in your house: the black man, whom you first saw disappear and afterwards swimming in the Seine, with his priestly garments, and the officer. Which of the two handed you the crown?" The old woman pondered for a moment and then said, "The officer." A murmur ran through the crowd. "Ah!" thought Gringoire, "this makes some doubt in my mind."
But the witchcraft of the goat with the golden hoofs was a very innocent species of magic. Gringoire explained them to the archdeacon, whom these details seemed to interest deeply. In the majority of cases, it was sufficient to present the tambourine to the goat in such or such a manner, in order to obtain from him the trick desired.
The unhappy girl dropped her head upon her hands, and the unknown began to row furiously towards the shore. Meanwhile our philosopher reflected. He clasped the goat in his arms, and gently drew away from the gypsy, who pressed closer and closer to him, as though to the only asylum which remained to her. It is certain that Gringoire was enduring cruel perplexity.
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