GOOD SOULS.
Sixteen years previous to the when this takes place, one morning, on Quasimodo Sunday, a had been deposited, after mass, in the church of Notre-Dame, on the in the on the left, opposite that great image of Saint Christopher, which the of Messire Antoine Essarts, chevalier, in stone, had been at on his since 1413, when they took it into their to the saint and the follower. Upon this of it was to for public charity. Whoever to take them did so. In of the was a copper for alms.
The of being which upon that on the of Quasimodo, in the year of the Lord, 1467, appeared to to a high degree, the of the group which had about the bed. The group was for the most part of the sex. Hardly any one was there old women.
In the row, and among those who were most over the bed, four were noticeable, who, from their cagoule, a of cassock, were as to some sisterhood. I do not see why history has not to the names of these four and damsels. They were Agnès la Herme, Jehanne de la Tarme, Henriette la Gaultière, Gauchère la Violette, all four widows, all four of the Chapel Étienne Haudry, who had their house with the permission of their mistress, and in with the of Pierre d’Ailly, in order to come and the sermon.
However, if these good Haudriettes were, for the moment, with the of Pierre d’Ailly, they with those of Michel de Brache, and the Cardinal of Pisa, which so upon them.
“What is this, sister?” said Agnès to Gauchère, at the little exposed, which was and on the bed, by so many glances.
“What is to of us,” said Jehanne, “if that is the way children are now?”
“I’m not learned in the of children,” Agnès, “but it must be a to look at this one.”
“’Tis not a child, Agnès.”
“’Tis an of a monkey,” Gauchère.
“’Tis a miracle,” Henriette la Gaultière.
“Then,” Agnès, “it is the third since the Sunday of the Lætare: for, in less than a week, we had the of the of by Notre-Dame d’Aubervilliers, and that was the second a month.”
“This is a of abomination,” Jehanne.
“He loud to a chanter,” Gauchère. “Hold your tongue, you little howler!”
“To think that Monsieur of Reims sent this to Monsieur of Paris,” added la Gaultière, her hands.
“I imagine,” said Agnès la Herme, “that it is a beast, an animal,—the fruit of a Jew and a sow; something not Christian, in short, which ought to be into the fire or into the water.”
“I hope,” la Gaultière, “that nobody will apply for it.”
“Ah, good heavens!” Agnès; “those in the asylum, which the end of the as you go to the river, just Monseigneur the bishop! what if this little were to be to them to suckle? I’d give to a vampire.”
“How that la Herme is!” Jehanne; “don’t you see, sister, that this little is at least four years old, and that he would have less for your than for a turnspit.”
The “little monster” we should it difficult ourselves to him otherwise, was, in fact, not a new-born child. It was a very and very little mass, in its sack, with the of Messire Guillaume Chartier, then of Paris, with a projecting. That was enough; one only a of red hair, one eye, a mouth, and teeth. The wept, the mouth cried, and the teeth to ask only to be allowed to bite. The whole in the sack, to the great of the crowd, which and was around it.
Dame Aloïse de Gondelaurier, a rich and woman, who by the hand a girl about five or six years of age, and a long about, to the of her headdress, as she passed the bed, and for a moment at the creature, while her little daughter, Fleur-de-Lys de Gondelaurier, out with her tiny, finger, the permanent to the bed: “Foundlings.”
“Really,” said the dame, away in disgust, “I that they only children here.”
She her back, into the a florin, which among the liards, and the of the of Étienne Haudry open their eyes.
A moment later, the and learned Robert Mistricolle, the king’s protonotary, passed, with an under one arm and his wife on the other (Damoiselle Guillemette la Mairesse), having thus by his his two regulators,—spiritual and temporal.
“Foundling!” he said, after the object; “found, apparently, on the banks of the river Phlegethon.”
“One can only see one eye,” Damoiselle Guillemette; “there is a on the other.”
“It’s not a wart,” returned Master Robert Mistricolle, “it is an egg which another similar, who another little egg which another devil, and so on.”
“How do you know that?” asked Guillemette la Mairesse.
“I know it pertinently,” the protonotary.
“Monsieur le protonotare,” asked Gauchère, “what do you of this foundling?”
“The misfortunes,” Mistricolle.
“Ah! good heavens!” said an old woman among the spectators, “and that our having had a last year, and that they say that the English are going to in a company at Harfleur.”
“Perhaps that will prevent the queen from to Paris in the month of September,” another; “trade is so already.”
“My opinion is,” Jehanne de la Tarme, “that it would be for the of Paris, if this little were put to on a than on a plank.”
“A fine, fagot,” added the old woman.
“It would be more prudent,” said Mistricolle.
For minutes, a had been to the of the Haudriettes and the of the notary. He had a face, with a large brow, a glance. He the aside, the “little magician,” and out his hand upon him. It was high time, for all the were already their over the “fine, fagot.”
“I this child,” said the priest.
He took it in his and it off. The him with glances. A moment later, he had through the “Red Door,” which then from the church to the cloister.
When the was over, Jehanne de la Tarme to the ear of la Gaultière,—
“I told you so, sister,—that clerk, Monsieur Claude Frollo, is a sorcerer.”
