Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

“Horns of the devil!” growled Phœbus, “here’s a villainous, ragged bird methinks I’ve seen somewhere
before. Now, then, my friend, let go my horse’s rein, I tell thee——”
“Captain,” returned the deaf ringer, “are you not asking me who it is?”
“I am telling thee to let go my horse,” retorted Phœ bus impatiently. “What does the fellow mean by
hanging at my charger’s rein? Dost take my beast for a gallows?”
Far from leaving hold of the horse, Quasimodo was preparing to turn him round. Unable to explain to
himself the officer’s resistance, he hastened to say: “Come, captain, ’tis a woman awaits you,” and he
added with an effort, “a woman who loves you.”
“A droll rascal!” said the captain, “who thinks me obliged to run after every woman that loves me, or
says she does; especially, if perchance she is anything like thee, owl-faced one! Go—tell her who sent
thee that I am going to be married, and she may go to the devil!”
“Hark you!” cried Quasimodo, thinking with a single word to overcome his hesitation; “come,
monseigneur, ’tis the gipsy girl you wot of!”
This word did indeed make a tremendous impression on Phœbus, but not the kind the hunchback
expected. It will be remembered that the gallant officer had retired from the balcony with Fleur-de-Lys a
few minutes before Quasimodo saved the condemned girl out of Charmolue’s hands. Since then, in all his
visits to the Gondelaurier mansion, he had taken good care not to mention the woman, the recollection of
whom, after all, was painful to him; and Fleur-de-Lys, on her part, had not deemed it politic to tell him
that the gipsy was alive. Consequently Phœbus believed poor “Similar,” as he called her, to be dead,
and what’s more, for a month or two. Added to which, the captain had been thinking for some moments
past that the night was pitch dark; that, combined with the sepulchral voice and supernatural ugliness of
the strange messenger, it was past midnight; that the street was as deserted as on the night the
spectremonk had accosted him, and that his horse had snorted violently at sight of the hunchback.
“The gipsy girl!” he exclaimed, almost in fear. “How now, comest thou from the other world?” and his
hand went to his dagger-hilt.
“Quick, quick!” said the hunchback, trying to lead the horse on. “This way.”
Phœbus planted a vigorous kick in the middle of his chest. Quasimodo’s eye flashed. He made as if to
throw himself on the captain, but checked himself suddenly. “Oh,” he exclaimed “’tis well for you
there’s some one that loves you!” He laid particular stress on the “some one,” then dropping the horse’s
bridle, “Go your way!” he cried.
Phœbus put spurs to his horse and galloped off, swearing lustily.
Quasimodo watched him disappear down the dark street. “Oh,” murmured the poor deaf hunchback,
“to think of refusing that!”
He returned to the Cathedral, lit his lamp, and mounted the stairs of the tower. As he had surmised, the
gipsy was where he had left her.
The moment she caught sight of him she ran to him. “Alone!” she cried, clasping her beautiful hands in
despair. “I did not find him,” answered Quasimodo coldly.