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Updated: May 4, 2025
All at once, as she struggled and crawled on the floor, the gypsy's hand came in contact with something cold and metal-lic-it was Quasimodo's whistle. She seized it with a convulsive hope, raised it to her lips and blew with all the strength that she had left. The whistle gave a clear, piercing sound. "What is that?" said the priest.
Little by little, he regained his senses; at first, for several minutes, he was floating in a sort of half-somnolent revery, which was not without its charm, in which aeriel figures of the gypsy and her goat were coupled with Quasimodo's heavy fist. This state lasted but a short time.
"Vah!" he cried, with a senseless burst of laughter. However, the movement of the bass was accelerated, and, in proportion as it described a wider angle, Quasimodo's eye opened also more and more widely, phosphoric and flaming. At length the grand peal began; the whole tower trembled; woodwork, leads, cut stones, all groaned at once, from the piles of the foundation to the trefoils of its summit.
The smile on Quasimodo's face became bitter and profoundly sad. Time passed. He had been there at least an hour and a half, wounded, incessantly mocked, and almost stoned to death. Suddenly he again struggled in his chains with renewed despair, and breaking the silence which he had kept so stubbornly, he cried in a hoarse and furious voice, "Water!"
Having, then, thoroughly ruminated Quasimodo's affair, he threw back his head and half closed his eyes, for the sake of more majesty and impartiality, so that, at that moment, he was both deaf and blind. A double condition, without which no judge is perfect. It was in this magisterial attitude that he began the examination. "Your name?"
Soon the public hangman was aroused, and the execution which had been interrupted by Quasimodo's heroic rescue was carried out. Meantime, what of Quasimodo? He had rushed to her cell when the king's troops, having beaten off the vagrants, entered the church, and it was empty! Then he had explored every nook and cranny of Notre Dame, and again and again gone the round of the church.
"Look here, do you come from the other world?" And he laid his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "Quick, quick," said the deaf man, endeavoring to drag the horse along; "this way!" Phoebus dealt him a vigorous kick in the breast. Quasimodo's eye flashed. He made a motion to fling himself on the captain. Then he drew himself up stiffly and said,
The priest, beside himself, was about to seize it. But the young girl was quicker than be; she wrenched the knife from Quasimodo's hands and burst into a frantic laugh, "Approach," she said to the priest. She held the blade high. The priest remained undecided. She would certainly have struck him.
Now, to give the big bell in marriage to Quasimodo was to give Juliet to Romeo. Hence Quasimodo's gratitude was profound, passionate, boundless; and although the visage of his adopted father was often clouded or severe, although his speech was habitually curt, harsh, imperious, that gratitude never wavered for a single moment.
Both were in their quarter like "the poets" of whom Regnier speaks, "All sorts of persons run after poets, As warblers fly shrieking after owls." Sometimes a mischievous child risked his skin and bones for the ineffable pleasure of driving a pin into Quasimodo's hump.
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