BOOK SIXTH.
CHAPTER 1. AN IMPARTIAL GLANCE AT THE ANCIENT MAGISTRACY.
(continued)
And he seated himself, utterly breathless, wiping away the
great drops of sweat which fell from his brow and drenched,
like tears, the parchments spread out before him. Messire
Robert d'Estouteville frowned and made a gesture so imperious
and significant to Quasimodo, that the deaf man in some
measure understood it.
The provost addressed him with severity, "What have you
done that you have been brought hither, knave?"
The poor fellow, supposing that the provost was asking his
name, broke the silence which he habitually preserved, and
replied, in a harsh and guttural voice, "Quasimodo."
The reply matched the question so little that the wild
laugh began to circulate once more, and Messire Robert
exclaimed, red with wrath,--
"Are you mocking me also, you arrant knave?"
"Bellringer of Notre-Dame," replied Quasimodo, supposing
that what was required of him was to explain to the judge
who he was.
"Bellringer!" interpolated the provost, who had waked up
early enough to be in a sufficiently bad temper, as we have
said, not to require to have his fury inflamed by such strange
responses. "Bellringer! I'll play you a chime of rods on
your back through the squares of Paris! Do you hear, knave?"
"If it is my age that you wish to know," said Quasimodo,
"I think that I shall be twenty at Saint Martin's day."
This was too much; the provost could no longer restrain
himself.
"Ah! you are scoffing at the provostship, wretch! Messieurs
the sergeants of the mace, you will take me this knave
to the pillory of the Grève, you will flog him, and turn
him for an hour. He shall pay me for it, tête Dieu! And I
order that the present judgment shall be cried, with the
assistance of four sworn trumpeters, in the seven castellanies
of the viscomty of Paris."
The clerk set to work incontinently to draw up the account
of the sentence.
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