BOOK SEVENTH.
CHAPTER 2. A PRIEST AND A PHILOSOPHER ARE TWO DIFFERENT THINGS.
(continued)
"Then why do you talk of husband and wife?" said the priest.
Gringoire made haste to relate to him as succinctly as possible,
all that the reader already knows, his adventure in the
Court of Miracles and the broken-crock marriage. It
appeared, moreover, that this marriage had led to no results
whatever, and that each evening the gypsy girl cheated him
of his nuptial right as on the first day. "'Tis a mortification,"
he said in conclusion, "but that is because I have had the
misfortune to wed a virgin."
"What do you mean?" demanded the archdeacon, who had been
gradually appeased by this recital.
"'Tis very difficult to explain," replied the poet. "It is
a superstition. My wife is, according to what an old thief,
who is called among us the Duke of Egypt, has told me, a
foundling or a lost child, which is the same thing. She wears
on her neck an amulet which, it is affirmed, will cause her to
meet her parents some day, but which will lose its virtue if
the young girl loses hers. Hence it follows that both of us
remain very virtuous."
"So," resumed Claude, whose brow cleared more and more,
"you believe, Master Pierre, that this creature has not been
approached by any man?"
"What would you have a man do, Dom Claude, as against
a superstition? She has got that in her head. I assuredly
esteem as a rarity this nunlike prudery which is preserved
untamed amid those Bohemian girls who are so easily brought
into subjection. But she has three things to protect her:
the Duke of Egypt, who has taken her under his safeguard,
reckoning, perchance, on selling her to some gay abbé; all his
tribe, who hold her in singular veneration, like a Notre-Dame;
and a certain tiny poignard, which the buxom dame always
wears about her, in some nook, in spite of the ordinances of
the provost, and which one causes to fly out into her hands
by squeezing her waist. 'Tis a proud wasp, I can tell you!"
The archdeacon pressed Gringoire with questions.
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