BOOK EIGHTH.
CHAPTER 1. THE CROWN CHANGED INTO A DRY LEAF.
(continued)
The old woman ceased. A murmur of horror ran through
the audience.
"That phantom, that goat,--all smacks of magic," said one
of Gringoire's neighbors.
"And that dry leaf!" added another.
"No doubt about it," joined in a third, "she is a witch who
has dealings with the surly monk, for the purpose of
plundering officers."
Gringoire himself was not disinclined to regard this as
altogether alarming and probable.
"Goody Falourdel," said the president majestically, "have
you nothing more to communicate to the court?"
"No, monseigneur," replied the crone, "except that the
report has described my house as a hovel and stinking; which
is an outrageous fashion of speaking. The houses on the
bridge are not imposing, because there are such multitudes of
people; but, nevertheless, the butchers continue to dwell
there, who are wealthy folk, and married to very proper and
handsome women."
The magistrate who had reminded Gringoire of a crocodile rose,--
"Silence!" said he. "I pray the gentlemen not to lose
sight of the fact that a dagger was found on the person of
the accused. Goody Falourdel, have you brought that leaf
into which the crown which the demon gave you was transformed?
"Yes, monseigneur," she replied; "I found it again. Here it is."
A bailiff banded the dead leaf to the crocodile, who made a
doleful shake of the head, and passed it on to the president,
who gave it to the procurator of the king in the ecclesiastical
court, and thus it made the circuit of the hail.
"It is a birch leaf," said Master Jacques Charmolue. "A
fresh proof of magic.
A counsellor took up the word.
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