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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Then it grieves me deeply, but I must fulfil my office." "Monsieur le Procureur du Roi," said Pierrat abruptly, "How shall we begin?" Charmolue hesitated for a moment with the ambiguous grimace of a poet in search of a rhyme. "With the boot," he said at last.
All at once, at the moment when the wheel in its revolution presented to Master Pierrat, the humped back of Quasimodo, Master Pierrat raised his arm; the fine thongs whistled sharply through the air, like a handful of adders, and fell with fury upon the wretch's shoulders. Quasimodo leaped as though awakened with a start. He began to understand.
Two lackeys of the official torturer bathed the bleeding shoulders of the patient, anointed them with some unguent which immediately closed all the wounds, and threw upon his back a sort of yellow vestment, in cut like a chasuble. In the meanwhile, Pierrat Torterue allowed the thongs, red and gorged with blood, to drip upon the pavement. All was not over for Quasimodo.
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