The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo [158]
There was such an odor of chastity, such a charm of virtue about the young girl, that Phoebus did not feel wholly at his ease with her. But this speech emboldened him. “You love me!” said he, with transport; and he threw his arm around the gipsy’s waist. He had only waited for such an opportunity.
The priest saw him, and tested with the tip of his finger the point of a dagger hidden in his bosom.
“Phoebus,” continued the gipsy girl, gently removing the captain’s stubborn hands from her girdle, “you are good, you are generous, you are kind; you saved me—me, who am but a poor gipsy foundling. I have long dreamed of an officer who should save my life. It was of you I dreamed before I ever knew you, my Phoebus; the image of my dreams had a gorgeous uniform like yours, a grand air, a sword. Your name is Phœbus; it is a beautiful name. I love your name; I love your sword. Draw your sword, Phoebus, and let me see it.”
“Child!” said the captain; and he unsheathed his rapier with a smile.
The gipsy girl studied the handle, the blade, examined the letters on the hilt with adorable curiosity, and kissed the sword, as she said,—
“You are a brave man’s sword. I love my captain.”
Phœbus again took advantage of the situation to imprint on her lovely bent neck a kiss which made the girl start up as red as a cherry. The priest ground his teeth in the darkness at the sight.
“Phoebus,” resumed the gipsy, “let me talk to you. Walk about a little, so that I may have a good look at you, and hear your spurs jingle. How handsome you are!”
The captain rose to gratify her, while he scolded her with a smile of satisfaction:—
“What a child you are! By the way, my charmer, did you ever see me in my full dress uniform?”
“Alas, no!” she replied.
“Well, that is really fine!”
Phoebus came back and sat down beside her, but much nearer than before.
“Look here, my dear—”
“The gipsy gave him a few little taps on the lips with her pretty hand, with a childish playfulness full of gaiety and grace.
“No, no, I will not listen. Do you love me? I want you to tell me if you love me.”
“Do I love you, angel of my life!” cried the captain, half kneeling before her. “My body, my soul, my blood, are yours. I am all yours,—all yours. I love you, and never loved any one but you.”
The captain had so often repeated this phrase on many a similar occasion, that he uttered it in a breath, without making a single mistake. At this passionate declaration the gipsy turned towards the dirty ceiling, which took the place of heaven, a look of angelic happiness. “Oh,” she murmured, “at such a moment one might well wish to die!”
Phoebus thought “the moment” a good one to steal another kiss, which inflicted fresh torment on the wretched archdeacon in his lair.
“To die?” exclaimed the amorous captain. “What are you talking about, my lovely angel? It is just the time to live, or Jupiter is but a paltry knave! Die at the beginning of such a pleasant thing! By Saint Luke’s face, what a joke! that would never do! Listen, my dear Similar—Esmenarda—Forgive me! but you have such a vastly outlandish name that I can never get it straight. I’m forever getting entangled in it.”
“Good Heavens!” said the poor girl, “and I thought the name pretty just for its oddness! But if you don’t like it, I am quite ready to change it for anything you please.”
“Ah, do not cry for such a trifle, my dearest! It’s a name to which one has to get used, that’s all. Once I have learned it by heart, it will be all right. Now listen, my dear Similar; I adore you passionately. I love you to such a degree that it is really marvelous. I know a little girl who is bursting with rage about it—”
The jealous damsel cut him short: “Who is she?”
“What difference does that make to us?” said Phœbus; “do you love me?”
“Oh!” said she.
“Well, then, that is all that is necessary. You shall see how I love you, too. May the great devil Neptune bestride me if I do not make you the happiest creature in the world. We will have a pretty little room somewhere!