The Hunchback of Notre Dame - Victor Hugo [182]
“I’ll go afterwards.”
“I say, Boucanbry, is it true that she has refused a confessor?”
“So it seems, Bechaigne.”
“Look at that, the heathen!”
“Sir, it is the custom. The Palace bailiff is bound to deliver over the malefactor, sentence having been pronounced, for execution, if it be one of the laity, to the provost of Paris; if it be a scholar, to the judges of the Bishop’s Court.”
“I thank you, sir.”
“Oh, Heavens!” said Fleur-de-Lys, “the poor creature!”
The thought of the unfortunate victim filled with sadness the glance which she cast upon the crowd. The captain, far more absorbed in her than in that collection of rabble, amorously fingered her girdle from behind. She turned with the smiling entreaty,—
“For pity’s sake, let me alone, Phoebus! If my mother returned, she would see your hand!”
At this instant the clock of Notre-Dame slowly struck twelve. A murmur of satisfaction burst from the crowd. The last vibration of the twelfth stroke had scarcely died away, when the sea of heads tossed like the waves on a windy day, and a vast shout rose from the street, the windows, and the roofs:—
“There she is!”
Fleur-de-Lys covered her eyes with her hands that she might not see.
“My charmer,” said Phœbus, “will you go in?”
“No,” replied she; and those eyes which she had closed from fear she opened again from curiosity.
A tumbrel, drawn by a strong Norman cart-horse, and entirely surrounded by cavalry in violet livery with white crosses, had just entered the square from the Rue Saint Pierre aux Bœufs. The officers of the watch made a passage for it through the people with lusty blows of their whips. Beside the tumbrel rode a number of officers of justice and of police who might be known by their black dress and their awkward seat in the saddle. Master Jacques Charmolue paraded at their head. In the fatal wagon sat a young girl, her arms bound behind her, and no priest at her side. She was in her shift; her long black locks (it was the fashion then not to cut them until the foot of the gibbet was reached) fell upon her breast and over her half-naked shoulders.
Through this floating hair, glossier than the raven’s wing, a rough grey cord was twisted and knotted, chafing her delicate skin, and winding about the poor girl’s graceful neck like an earthworm around a flower. Beneath this rope glittered a tiny amulet ornamented with green glass beads, which she had doubtless been allowed to keep, because nothing is refused to those about to die. The spectators posted at the windows could see at the bottom of the tumbrel her bare legs, which she tried to hide under her, as if by a last feminine instinct. At her feet was a little goat, also bound. The prisoner held in her teeth her shift, which was not securely fastened.
Even in her misery she seemed to suffer at being thus exposed almost naked to the public gaze. Alas! it is not for such tremors that modesty is made.
“Only see, fair cousin,” said Fleur-de-Lys quickly to the captain, “it is that wicked gipsy girl with the goat.”
So saying, she turned to Phœbus. His eyes were fixed upon the tumbrel. He was very pale.
“What gipsy girl with the goat?” he stammered.
“Why, Phœbus!” rejoined Fleur-de-Lys; “don’t you remember—”
Phœbus interrupted her:—
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He took a step to re-enter; but Fleur de-Lys, whose jealousy, already so deeply stirred by this same gipsy, was again revived, cast a suspicious and penetrating look at him. She now vaguely recalled having heard that there was a captain concerned in the trial of this sorceress.
“What ails you?” said she to Phœbus; “one would think that this woman had disturbed you.”
Phœbus tried to sneer.
“Me! Not the least in the world! Me, indeed!”
“Then stay,” returned she, imperiously; “let us see it out.”
The luckless captain was forced to remain. He was somewhat reassured when he found that the prisoner did not raise her eyes from the bottom of her tumbrel. It