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The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo [140]

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which he first met the gipsy, and the archdeacon’s presence on that occasion. Except for this, the little dancer feared nothing; she never told fortunes, which prevented all danger of a trial for witchcraft, such as was frequently brought against the other gipsy women. And then, Gringoire took the place of a brother, if not of a husband, to her. After all, the philosopher bore this kind of Platonic marriage very patiently. At any rate, it ensured him food and lodging. Every morning he set forth from the vagrant’s headquarters, generally in Esmeralda’s company; he helped her to reap her harvest of coin along the streets; every night he shared the same roof with her, allowing her to bolt herself into her tiny cell, and slept the sleep of the just. A very pleasant life, take it all in all, he thought, and very conducive to reverie. And then, in his innermost soul the philosopher was not so absolutely sure that he was desperately in love with the girl. He loved her goat almost as well. It was a charming animal, gentle, intelligent, quick,—a learned goat. Nothing was more common in the Middle Ages than these learned animals, at which men mar veled vastly, and which often conducted their instructors to the stake. And yet, the sorceries of the goat with the golden hoofs were very innocent tricks. Gringoire explained them to the archdeacon, whom these particulars seemed to interest greatly. All that was necessary, in most cases, was to hold the tambourine out to the goat in such or such a fashion, to make the creature perform the desired trick. It had been trained to do all this by the gipsy girl, who had such rare skill as an instructor that it took her only two months to teach the goat to write the word “Phœbus” with movable letters.

“Phoebus,” said the priest; “and why ‘Phœbus’?”

“I don’t know,” answered Gringoire. “It may be a word which she thinks has some secret magic virtue. She often repeats it in an undertone when she thinks she is alone.”

“Are you sure,” returned Claude, with his penetrating glance, “that it is a word, and not a name?”

“Whose name?” said the poet.

“How do I know?” said the priest.

“This is what I believe, sir. These gipsies are a kind of fire-worshippers, and worship the sun. Hence, ‘Phœbus.”’

“That is not so clear to me as to you, Master Pierre.”

“Never mind; it doesn’t concern me. Let her mumble her ‘Phœbus’ as much as she likes. I’m sure of one thing; and that is, that Djali is almost as fond of me as of her.”

“Who is Djali?”

“That’s the goat.”

The archdeacon rested his chin on his hand, and seemed for a moment lost in thought. Suddenly he turned abruptly to Gringoire.

“And you swear that you have never touched her?”

“Who?” said Gringoire,—“the goat?”

“No, that woman.”

“My wife? I swear I never have.”

“And you are often alone with her?”

“A good hour every evening.”

Dom Claude frowned.

“Oh! oh! Solus cum sola non cogitabuntur orare Pater noster.”ch

“By my soul! I might repeat the Pater, and the Ave Maria, and the Credo in Deum patrem omnipotentem, without her taking any more notice of me than a hen would of a church.”

“Swear to me by your mother’s soul,” repeated the archdeacon, vehemently, “that you have never laid the tip of your finger upon the girl.”

“I will swear it by my father’s head as well, if you like. But, my reverend master, let me ask one question in my turn.”

“Speak, sir.”

“What difference does it make to you?”

The archdeacon’s pale face turned red as a girl’s cheek. For a moment he made no answer; then, with evident embarrassment, he said,—

“Hark ye, Master Pierre Gringoire. You are not yet damned, so far as I know. I am interested in you, and wish you well. Now, the slightest contact with that devilish gipsy girl would make you the slave of Satan. You know that it is always the body which destroys the soul. Woe betide you if you approach that woman! That is all.”

“I tried it once,” said Gringoire, scratching his ear. “That was the first day; but I got stung.”

“Had you the effrontery, Master Pierre?”

And the priest’s face clouded.

“Another time,” said the

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