BOOK ELEVENTH.
CHAPTER 1. THE LITTLE SHOE.
(continued)
"For the last time, will you be mine?"
She replied with emphasis,--
"No!"
Then he cried in a loud voice,--
"Gudule! Gudule! here is the gypsy! take your vengeance!"
The young girl felt herself seized suddenly by the elbow.
She looked. A fleshless arm was stretched from an opening
in the wall, and held her like a hand of iron.
"Hold her well," said the priest; "'tis the gypsy escaped.
Release her not. I will go in search of the sergeants. You
shall see her hanged."
A guttural laugh replied from the interior of the wall to
these bloody words--"Hah! hah! hah!"--The gypsy watched
the priest retire in the direction of the Pont Notre-Dame.
A cavalcade was heard in that direction.
The young girl had recognized the spiteful recluse. Panting
with terror, she tried to disengage herself. She writhed,
she made many starts of agony and despair, but the other held
her with incredible strength. The lean and bony fingers
which bruised her, clenched on her flesh and met around it.
One would have said that this hand was riveted to her arm.
It was more than a chain, more than a fetter, more than a ring
of iron, it was a living pair of pincers endowed with intelligence,
which emerged from the wall.
She fell back against the wall exhausted, and then the fear
of death took possession of her. She thought of the beauty
of life, of youth, of the view of heaven, the aspects of nature,
of her love for Phoebus, of all that was vanishing and all that
was approaching, of the priest who was denouncing her, of
the headsman who was to come, of the gallows which was
there. Then she felt terror mount to the very roots of her
hair and she heard the mocking laugh of the recluse, saying
to her in a very low tone: "Hah! hah! hah! you are going
to be hanged!"
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