BOOK TENTH.
CHAPTER 1. GRINGOIRE HAS MANY GOOD IDEAS IN SUCCESSION.--RUE DES BERNARDINS.
(continued)
"I still make epics and tragedies now and then; but that
which brings me in most is the industry with which you are
acquainted, master; carrying pyramids of chairs in my teeth."
"The trade is but a rough one for a philosopher."
"'Tis still equilibrium," said Gringoire. "When one has
an idea, one encounters it in everything."
"I know that," replied the archdeacon.
After a silence, the priest resumed,--
"You are, nevertheless, tolerably poor?"
"Poor, yes; unhappy, no."
At that moment, a trampling of horses was heard, and our
two interlocutors beheld defiling at the end of the street, a
company of the king's unattached archers, their lances borne
high, an officer at their head. The cavalcade was brilliant,
and its march resounded on the pavement.
"How you gaze at that officer!" said Gringoire, to the
archdeacon.
"Because I think I recognize him."
"What do you call him?"
"I think," said Claude, "that his name is Phoebus de
Châteaupers."
"Phoebus! A curious name! There is also a Phoebus,
Comte de Foix. I remember having known a wench who
swore only by the name of Phoebus."
"Come away from here," said the priest. "I have something
to say to you."
From the moment of that troop's passing, some agitation
had pierced through the archdeacon's glacial envelope. He
walked on. Gringoire followed him, being accustomed to
obey him, like all who had once approached that man so full
of ascendency. They reached in silence the Rue des Bernardins,
which was nearly deserted. Here Dom Claude paused.
"What have you to say to me, master?" Gringoire asked him.
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