Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

“Messeigneurs the bourgeois,” he shouted with all the force of his lungs to the audience, which had not
ceased to hoot him, “we are going to begin.”
“Evoe Jupiter! Plaudite cives!” 16 yelled the scholars.
“Noël! Noël!” shouted the people.
There was a deafening clapping of hands, and the Hall still rocked with plaudits after Jupiter had retired
behind his curtain.
Meanwhile the unknown personage who had so magically transformed the storm into a calm, had
modestly re-entered the penumbra of his pillar, where doubtless he would have remained, unseen,
unheard, and motionless as before, had he not been lured out of it by two young women who, seated in
the first row of spectators, had witnessed his colloquy with Michel Giborne—Jupiter.
“Maître,” said one of them, beckoning to him to come nearer.
“Hush, my dear Liénarde,” said her companion, a pretty, rosy-cheeked girl, courageous in the
consciousness of her holiday finery, “he doesn’t belong to the University—he’s a layman. You mustn’t
say ‘Maître’ to him, you must say ‘Messire.’”
“Messire,” resumed Liénarde.
The stranger approached the balustrade.
“What can I do for you, mesdemoiselles?” he asked eagerly.
“Oh, nothing!” said Liénarde, all confused; “it is my neighbour, Gisquette la Gencienne, who wants to
speak to you.”
“Not at all,” said Gisquette, blushing, “it was Liénarde who called you ‘Maitre,’ and I told her she ought
to say ‘Messire.”’
The two girls cast down their eyes. The stranger, nothing loath to start a conversation with them, looked
at them smilingly.
“So you have nothing to say to me, ladies?”
“Oh, nothing at all,” Gisquette declared.
“No, nothing,” added Liénarde.
The tall young man made as if to retire, but the two inquiring damsels were not inclined to let him go so
soon.
“Messire,” began Gisquette with the impetuous haste of a woman taking a resolve, “it appears you are
acquainted with the soldier who is going to play the part of Madame the Virgin in the Mystery.”
“You mean the part of Jupiter,” returned the unknown.
“Yes, of course!” said Liénarde. “Isn’t she stupid? So you know Jupiter?”
“Michel Giborne? Yes, madame.”