BOOK SECOND.
CHAPTER 7. A BRIDAL NIGHT.
(continued)
The gypsy did not reply. She made her disdainful little
grimace, drew up her head like a bird, then burst out laughing,
and the tiny poniard disappeared as it had come, without
Gringoire being able to see where the wasp concealed its sting.
A moment later, there stood upon the table a loaf of rye
bread, a slice of bacon, some wrinkled apples and a jug of
beer. Gringoire began to eat eagerly. One would have said,
to hear the furious clashing of his iron fork and his
earthenware plate, that all his love had turned to appetite.
The young girl seated opposite him, watched him in silence,
visibly preoccupied with another thought, at which she smiled
from time to time, while her soft hand caressed the intelligent
head of the goat, gently pressed between her knees.
A candle of yellow wax illuminated this scene of voracity
and revery.
Meanwhile, the first cravings of his stomach having been
stilled, Gringoire felt some false shame at perceiving that
nothing remained but one apple.
"You do not eat, Mademoiselle Esmeralda?"
She replied by a negative sign of the head, and her pensive
glance fixed itself upon the vault of the ceiling.
"What the deuce is she thinking of?" thought Gringoire,
staring at what she was gazing at; "'tis impossible that it can
be that stone dwarf carved in the keystone of that arch, which
thus absorbs her attention. What the deuce! I can bear the
comparison!"
He raised his voice, "Mademoiselle!"
She seemed not to hear him.
He repeated, still more loudly, "Mademoiselle Esmeralda!"
Trouble wasted. The young girl's mind was elsewhere, and
Gringoire's voice had not the power to recall it. Fortunately,
the goat interfered. She began to pull her mistress gently
by the sleeve.
"What dost thou want, Djali?" said the gypsy, hastily, as though
suddenly awakened.
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