CHAPTER 6. LITTLE SWORD IN POCKET.
On emerging from the Bastille, Gringoire descended the Rue
Saint-Antoine with the swiftness of a runaway horse. On
arriving at the Baudoyer gate, he walked straight to the stone
cross which rose in the middle of that place, as though he
were able to distinguish in the darkness the figure of a man
clad and cloaked in black, who was seated on the steps of
"Is it you, master?" said Gringoire.
The personage in black rose.
"Death and passion! You make me boil, Gringoire. The
man on the tower of Saint-Gervais has just cried half-past
one o'clock in the morning."
"Oh," retorted Gringoire, "'tis no fault of mine, but of the
watch and the king. I have just had a narrow escape. I
always just miss being hung. 'Tis my predestination."
"You lack everything," said the other. "But come quickly.
Have you the password?"
"Fancy, master, I have seen the king. I come from him.
He wears fustian breeches. 'Tis an adventure."
"Oh! distaff of words! what is your adventure to me!
Have you the password of the outcasts?"
"I have it. Be at ease. 'Little sword in pocket.'"
"Good. Otherwise, we could not make our way as far as
the church. The outcasts bar the streets. Fortunately, it
appears that they have encountered resistance. We may still
arrive in time."
"Yes, master, but how are we to get into Notre-Dame?"
"I have the key to the tower."
"And how are we to get out again?"
"Behind the cloister there is a little door which opens on
the Terrain and the water. I have taken the key to it, and I
moored a boat there this morning."