BOOK SEVENTH.
CHAPTER 1. THE DANGER OF CONFIDING ONE'S SECRET TO A GOAT.
(continued)
"A miracle, a piece of magic, a bit of sorcery, in short."
"I do not understand." And she fell to caressing the
pretty animal, repeating, "Djali! Djali!"
At that moment Fleur-de-Lys noticed a little bag of
embroidered leather suspended from the neck of the goat,--
"What is that?" she asked of the gypsy.
The gypsy raised her large eyes upon her and replied gravely,--
"That is my secret."
"I should really like to know what your secret is," thought
Fleur-de-Lys.
Meanwhile, the good dame had risen angrily,--" Come
now, gypsy, if neither you nor your goat can dance for us,
what are you doing here?"
The gypsy walked slowly towards the door, without making
any reply. But the nearer she approached it, the more
her pace slackened. An irresistible magnet seemed to hold
her. Suddenly she turned her eyes, wet with tears, towards
Phoebus, and halted.
"True God!" exclaimed the captain, "that's not the way
to depart. Come back and dance something for us. By the
way, my sweet love, what is your name?"
"La Esmeralda," said the dancer, never taking her eyes
from him.
At this strange name, a burst of wild laughter broke from
the young girls.
"Here's a terrible name for a young lady," said Diane.
"You see well enough," retorted Amelotte, "that she is
an enchantress."
"My dear," exclaimed Dame Aloise solemnly, "your parents
did not commit the sin of giving you that name at the
baptismal font."
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