Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

“And was it never known what became of La Chantefleurie?” asked Gervaise. But Mahiette made no
reply till Gervaise, repeating her question, and shaking her by the arm, seemed to awaken her from her
musings.
“What became of Chantefleurie?” said she, mechanically repeating the words just fresh in her ear; then,
with an effort, to recall her attention to their sense: “Ah,” she added quickly, “that was never known.”
After a pause she went on: “Some said they had seen her leave the town in the dusk by the
Fléchembault gate; others, at the break of day by the old Basée gate. A poor man found her gold cross
hung upon the stone cross in the field where the fair is held. It was that trinket that had ruined her in
’6I—a gift from the handsome Vicomte de Cormontreuil, her first lover. Paquette would never part with
it, even in her greatest poverty—she clung to it as to her life. So, seeing this cross abandoned, we all
thought she must be dead. Nevertheless, some people at the Cabaret des Vautes came forward and
protested they had seen her pass by on the road to Paris, walking barefoot over the rough stones. But then
she must have gone out by the Vesle gate, and that does not agree with the rest. Or rather, I incline to the
belief that she did leave by the Vesle gate, but to go out of the world.”
“I do not understand,” said Gervaise.
“The Vesle,” replied Mahiette with a mournful sigh, “is the river.”
“Alas, poor Chantefleurie!” said Oudarde with a shudder, “drowned?”
“Drowned!” said Mahiette. “And who could have fore-told to the good father Guybertaut, when he was
passing down the stream under the Tinqueux bridge, singing in his boat, that one day his dear little
Paquette should pass under that same bridge, but without either boat or song!”
“And the little shoe?” asked Gervaise.
“Vanished with the mother.”
“Poor little shoe!” sighed Oudarde; fat, tender-hearted creature, she would have been very well pleased
to go on sighing in company with Mahiette; but Gervaise, of a more inquiring disposition, was not at an
end of her questions.
“And the little monster?” she suddenly said to Mahiette.
“What monster?”
“The little gipsy monster left by the black witches in the place of Chantefleurie’s little girl. What was
done with it? I trust you had it drowned?”
“No,” answered Mahiette, “we did not.”
“What? burned, then? I’ faith, a better way for a witch’s spawn!”
“Neither drowned nor burned, Gervaise. His Lordship the archbishop took pity on the child of Egypt,
exorcised it, blessed it, carefully cast the devil out of its body, and then sent it to Paris to be exposed as a
foundling on the wooden bed in front of Notre Dame.”
“Ah, these bishops,” grumbled Gervaise; “because they are learned, forsooth, they can never do
anything like other folks! Think of it, Oudarde—to put the devil among the foundlings! for of course the