Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

groundfloor window and the window of the upper floor open on to the water. Well, as I was saying, I sat
down again to my spinning. I don’t know why, but I began thinking about the spectre-monk whom the
goat had brought to my mind, and that the pretty girl was dressed very outlandish, when all at once I
hear a cry overhead and something fall on the floor, and then the window opening. I run to mine, which
is just underneath, and see a black mass drop into the water—a phantom dressed like a priest. It was
moonlight, so I saw it quite plainly. It swam away towards the city. Then, all of a tremble, I called the
watch. The gentlemen of the guard came in, and at first, not knowing what was the matter, they made
merry over it and began to beat me. I explained to them. We go upstairs, and what do we find? My
unfortunate room swimming in blood, the captain stretched his whole length on the floor with a dagger
in his neck, the girl making as if she were dead, and the goat in a fury. ‘A pretty business,’ say I. ‘’Twill
be a fortnight’s work to clean up these boards. It must be scraped—a terrible job!’ They carried away
the officer, poor young man, and the girl—half-naked. But stay—the worst is to come. The next morning,
when I went to take the crown to buy my tripe, I found a withered leaf in its place!”
The old beldame ceased. A murmur of horror went round the place. “That phantom, that goat—all this
savours of magic,” said one of Gringoire’s neighbours. “And that withered leaf,” added another. “There
can be no doubt,” went on a third, “that it’s some witch who has commerce with the spectre-monk to
plunder officers.” Gringoire himself was not far from thinking this connection both probable and
alarming.
“Woman Falourdel,” said the President with majesty, “have you nothing further to declare to the
court?”
“No, my lord,” answered the woman, “unless that in the report my house has been named a
tumble-down and stinking hovel, which is insulting language. The houses on the bridge are not very
handsome, because they swarm with people; but, nevertheless, the butchers live there, and they are
wealthy men with handsome and careful wives.”
The magistrate who reminded Gringoire of a crocodile now rose.
“Peace!” said he. “I would beg you gentlemen not to lose sight of the fact that a dagger was found on
the accused. Woman Falourdel, have you brought with you the withered leaf into which the crown was
transformed that the demon gave you?”
“Yes, my lord. I found it again. Here it is.”
An usher handed the dead leaf to the crocodile, who, with a doleful shake of the head, passed it to the
President, who sent it on to the procurator of the Ecclesiastical Court, so that it finally made the round
of the hall.
“’Tis a beech leaf,” said Maître Jacques Charmolue, “an additional proof of magic!”
A councillor then took up the word. “Witness, you say two men went up together in your house: the man
in black whom you first saw disappear and then swimming in the Seine in priest’s habit, and the officer.
Which of the two gave you the crown?”
The hag reflected for a moment, then answered, “It was the officer.”
A murmur ran through the crowd.