BOOK NINTH.
CHAPTER 4. EARTHENWARE AND CRYSTAL.
(continued)
The deaf man gazed at her. He understood this pantomime.
The poor bellringer's eye filled with tears, but he let none
fall. All at once he pulled her gently by the border of her
sleeve. She turned round. He had assumed a tranquil air;
he said to her,--
"Would you like to have me bring him to you?"
She uttered a cry of joy.
"Oh! go! hasten! run! quick! that captain! that captain!
bring him to me! I will love you for it!"
She clasped his knees. He could not refrain from shaking
his head sadly.
"I will bring him to you," he said, in a weak voice. Then
he turned his head and plunged down the staircase with great
strides, stifling with sobs.
When he reached the Place, he no longer saw anything except
the handsome horse hitched at the door of the Gondelaurier
house; the captain had just entered there.
He raised his eyes to the roof of the church. La Esmeralda
was there in the same spot, in the same attitude. He made
her a sad sign with his head; then he planted his back against
one of the stone posts of the Gondelaurier porch, determined
to wait until the captain should come forth.
In the Gondelaurier house it was one of those gala days
which precede a wedding. Quasimodo beheld many people
enter, but no one come out. He cast a glance towards the
roof from time to time; the gypsy did not stir any more than
himself. A groom came and unhitched the horse and led it to
the stable of the house.
The entire day passed thus, Quasimodo at his post, la
Esmeralda on the roof, Phoebus, no doubt, at the feet of
Fleur-de-Lys.
At length night came, a moonless night, a dark night.
Quasimodo fixed his gaze in vain upon la Esmeralda; soon
she was no more than a whiteness amid the twilight; then
nothing. All was effaced, all was black.
|