BOOK SECOND.
CHAPTER 3. KISSES FOR BLOWS.
(continued)
Djali struck seven blows. At that moment, the clock of
the Pillar House rang out seven.
The people were amazed.
"There's sorcery at the bottom of it," said a sinister voice
in the crowd. It was that of the bald man, who never removed
his eyes from the gypsy.
She shuddered and turned round; but applause broke forth
and drowned the morose exclamation.
It even effaced it so completely from her mind, that she
continued to question her goat.
"Djali, what does Master Guichard Grand-Remy, captain of
the pistoliers of the town do, at the procession of Candlemas?"
Djali reared himself on his hind legs, and began to bleat,
marching along with so much dainty gravity, that the entire
circle of spectators burst into a laugh at this parody of the
interested devoutness of the captain of pistoliers.
"Djali," resumed the young girl, emboldened by her growing
success, "how preaches Master Jacques Charmolue, procurator
to the king in the ecclesiastical court?"
The goat seated himself on his hind quarters, and began
to bleat, waving his fore feet in so strange a manner, that,
with the exception of the bad French, and worse Latin,
Jacques Charmolue was there complete,--gesture, accent, and
attitude.
And the crowd applauded louder than ever.
"Sacrilege! profanation!" resumed the voice of the bald man.
The gypsy turned round once more.
"Ah!" said she, "'tis that villanous man!" Then, thrusting
her under lip out beyond the upper, she made a little
pout, which appeared to be familiar to her, executed a pirouette
on her heel, and set about collecting in her tambourine the
gifts of the multitude.
Big blanks, little blanks, targes* and eagle liards showered
into it.
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