BOOK SECOND.
CHAPTER 7. A BRIDAL NIGHT.
(continued)
"I don't know," said the young girl, and she added hastily,
"but you were following me also, why were you following me?"
"In good faith," responded Gringoire, "I don't know either."
Silence ensued. Gringoire slashed the table with his knife.
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.
"Why are you called 'la Esmeralda?'" asked the poet.
"I do not know."
"But why?"
She drew from her bosom a sort of little oblong bag, suspended
from her neck by a string of adrézarach beads. This
bag exhaled a strong odor of camphor. It was covered with
green silk, and bore in its centre a large piece of green glass,
in imitation of an emerald.
"Perhaps it is because of this," said she.
Gringoire was on the point of taking the bag in his hand.
She drew back.
"Don't touch it! It is an amulet. You would injure the
charm or the charm would injure you."
The poet's curiosity was more and more aroused.
"Who gave it to you?"
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