Notre Dame de Paris - Bartleby.com

the heterogeneous mass; in the first place by the whole height of his barrel, and then by virtue of a lofty,
fierce, and formidable air which made his eye flash and rectified in his savage countenance the bestial
type of the vagabond race. He was like a wild boar among swine.
“Look you,” said he to Gringoire, stroking his unsightly chin with his horny hand. “I see no reason why
you should not be hanged. To be sure, the prospect does not seem to please you; but that is simply
because you townsfolk are not used to it—you make such a tremendous business of it. After all, we mean
you no harm. But here’s one way of getting out of it for the moment. Will you be one of us?”
One may imagine the effect of this suggestion on Gringoire, who saw life slipping from his grasp and
had already begun to loosen his hold on it. He clutched it again with all his might.
“That will I most readily,” he replied.
“You consent,” resumed Clopin, “to enrol yourself among the members of the ‘petite flambe’ (the little
dagger)?”
“Of the Little Dagger—certainly,” answered Gringoire.
“You acknowledge yourself a member of the Free Company?” went on the King of Tunis.
“Of the Free Company.”
“A subject of the Kingdom of Argot?”
“Of the Kingdom of Argot.”
“A Vagabond?”
“A Vagabond.”
“With heart and soul?”
“Heart and soul.”
“I would have you observe,” added the King, “that you will be none the less hanged for all that.”
“Diable!” exclaimed the poet.
“Only,” continued Clopin imperturbably, “it will take place somewhat later, with more ceremony, and
at the expense of the city of Paris, on a fine stone gibbet, and by honest men. That’s some consolation.”
“I am glad you think so,” responded Gringoire.
“Then, there are other advantages. As a member of the Free Company you will have to contribute
neither towards the paving, the lighting, nor the poor—taxes to which the burghers of Paris are subject.”
“So be it,” said the poet. “I agree. I am a Vagabond, an Argotier, a Little Dagger—whatever you please.
And, indeed, I was all that already, Monsieur the King of Tunis, for I am a philosopher and ‘Omnia in
philosophia, omnes in philosopho continentur’—as you are aware.”
The King of Tunis knit his brows. “What do you take me for, my friend? What Jew of Hungary’s patter
are you treating us to now? I know no Hebrew. It’s not to say that because a man’s a robber he must be a