The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo [135]
The gipsy was not insensible to these pin-pricks. Now and then a flush of shame, a flash of anger, kindled in her eyes or on her cheeks; a scornful word seemed trembling on her lips; she made that little pout with which the reader is familiar, in token of her contempt, but she stood motionless; she fixed a sad, sweet look of resignation upon Phœbus.
This look was also full of happiness and affection. She seemed to be restraining herself, for fear she should be turned out.
Phœbus also laughed, and took the gipsy’s part with a mixture of impertinence and pity.
“Let them talk, little one,” he repeated, jingling his golden spurs; “no doubt your dress is somewhat extravagant and peculiar; but what does that matter to such a charming girl as you are?”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed the fair-haired Gaillefontaine, straightening her swan-like neck with a bitter smile, “I see that the officers of the king’s guard easily take fire at the bright eyes of a gipsy.”
“Why not?” said Phœbus.
At this answer, carelessly uttered by the captain, like a stone cast at random, which falls unnoted, Colombe began to laugh, as did Diane and Amelotte and Fleur-de-Lys, into whose eyes tears started at the same time.
The gipsy, whose eyes had drooped at the words of Colombe de Gaillefontaine, now raised them beaming with pride and pleasure, and fixed them again upon Phoebus. She was beautiful indeed at this moment.
The old lady, who was watching this scene, felt offended, though she did not know why.
“Holy Virgin!” she suddenly exclaimed, “what is this thing poking about under my feet? Oh, the ugly beast!”
It was the goat, which had entered in scarch of its mistress, and which, in its haste to reach her, had caught its horns in the mass of folds which the noble dame’s draperies formed about her feet when she was seated.
This caused a diversion. The gipsy girl, without speaking, released her pet.
“Oh, there’s the little goat with the golden feet!” cried Bérangère, jumping with joy.
The gipsy girl crouched upon her knees and pressed her cheek against the goat’s fond head. She seemed to be begging its pardon for having thus deserted it.
Diane whispered in Colombe’s ear,—
“Gracious! why didn’t I think of it before? It’s the gipsy girl with the goat, of whom I have so often heard. They say she is a witch, and that her goat performs very marvelous tricks.”
“Very well,” said Colombe, “the goat must now amuse in its turn, by performing some miracle.”
Diane and Colombe addressed the gipsy eagerly,—
“Little one, make your goat perform some miracle.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” replied the dancer.
“A miracle, a piece of magic, some witchcraft.”
“I don’t understand;” and she began to fondle the pretty creature, repeating, “Djali! Djali!”
At this instant Fleur-de-Lys noticed an embroidered leather bag hanging from the goat’s neck.
“What is that?” she asked.
The gipsy raised her large eyes to the girl’s face and replied gravely, “That is my secret.”
“I should very much like to know what your secret is,” thought Fleur-de-Lys.
Meanwhile the good lady rose angrily, saying,—
“Come, gipsy, if neither you nor your goat can dance for us, why do you loiter here?”
The gipsy, without answering, moved slowly towards the door; but the nearer she came to it, the slower grew her steps. An irresistible magnet seemed to hold her back. All at once she turned her eyes wet with tears upon Phœbus, and paused.
“Zounds!” cried the captain; “you mustn’t go in that way. Come back, and dance something for us. By the way, my beauty, what is your name?”
“Esmeralda,” said the dancer, without taking her eyes from his face.
At this strange name the young girls burst into a fit of laughter.
“A terrible name for a girl,” said Diane.
“You see now,” added Amelotte, “that she is an enchantress.”
“My dear,” solemnly exclaimed Dame Aloïse, “your parents never fished out that name for you from the baptismal font.”
Some moments previous, however, Bérangère, unheeded by the rest, had lured the goat into one corner of the