BOOK ELEVENTH.
CHAPTER 1. THE LITTLE SHOE.
(continued)
Then she began to laugh or to gnash her teeth, for the two
things resembled each other in that furious face. The day
was beginning to dawn. An ashy gleam dimly lighted this
scene, and the gallows grew more and more distinct in the
square. On the other side, in the direction of the bridge of
Notre-Dame, the poor condemned girl fancied that she heard
the sound of cavalry approaching.
"Madam," she cried, clasping her hands and falling on her
knees, dishevelled, distracted, mad with fright; "madam! have
pity! They are coming. I have done nothing to you. Would
you wish to see me die in this horrible fashion before your
very eyes? You are pitiful, I am sure. It is too frightful.
Let me make my escape. Release me! Mercy. I do not wish to
die like that!"
"Give me back my child!" said the recluse.
"Mercy! Mercy!"
"Give me back my child!"
"Release me, in the name of heaven!"
"Give me back my child!"
Again the young girl fell; exhausted, broken, and having
already the glassy eye of a person in the grave.
"Alas!" she faltered, "you seek your child, I seek my parents."
"Give me back my little Agnes!" pursued Gudule. "You
do not know where she is? Then die!--I will tell you. I
was a woman of the town, I had a child, they took my child.
It was the gypsies. You see plainly that you must die.
When your mother, the gypsy, comes to reclaim you, I shall
say to her: 'Mother, look at that gibbet!--Or, give me back
my child. Do you know where she is, my little daughter?
Stay! I will show you. Here is her shoe, all that is left me
of her. Do you know where its mate is? If you know, tell
me, and if it is only at the other end of the world, I will
crawl to it on my knees."
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