THE UTILITY OF WINDOWS WHICH OPEN ON THE RIVER.
Claude Frollo (for we that the reader, more than Phœbus, has in this whole no other monk than the archdeacon), Claude Frollo about for moments in the dark into which the captain had him. It was one of those which sometimes at the point of the and the supporting wall. A of this kennel, as Phœbus had so it, would have a triangle. Moreover, there was neither window air-hole, and the of the one from upright. Accordingly, Claude in the dust, and the plaster which him; his was on fire; around him with his hands, he on the a of glass, which he pressed to his brow, and him some relief.
What was taking place at that moment in the of the archdeacon? God and himself alone know.
In what order was he in his mind la Esmeralda, Phœbus, Jacques Charmolue, his so beloved, yet by him in the mire, his archdeacon’s cassock, his to la Falourdel’s, all these adventures, all these images? I cannot say. But it is that these ideas in his mind a group.
He had been waiting a of an hour; it to him that he had a century older. All at once he the of the of the stairway; some one was ascending. The opened once more; a light reappeared. There was a large in the worm-eaten door of his den; he put his to it. In this manner he see all that on in the room. The cat-faced old was the to from the trap-door, lamp in hand; then Phœbus, his moustache, then a third person, that and figure, la Esmeralda. The her from like a apparition. Claude trembled, a cloud spread over his eyes, his violently, and around him; he no longer saw anything.
When he himself, Phœbus and Esmeralda were alone seated on the the lamp which these two and a at the end of the out the archdeacon’s eyes.
Beside the was a window, like a spider’s upon which rain has fallen, allowed a view, through its rent meshes, of a of the sky, and the moon away on an of soft clouds.
The girl was blushing, confused, palpitating. Her long, her cheeks. The officer, to she not her eyes, was radiant. Mechanically, and with a gesture, she with the of her lines on the bench, and her finger. Her was not visible. The little was upon it.
The captain was very clad; he had of at his and wrists; a great at that day.
It was not without that Dom Claude managed to what they were saying, through the of the blood, which was in his temples.
(A lovers is a very affair. It is a “I love you.” A phrase which is very and very for listeners, when it is not with some fioriture; but Claude was not an listener.)
“Oh!” said the girl, without her eyes, “do not me, Phœbus. I that what I am doing is not right.”
“Despise you, my child!” the officer with an air of and gallantry, “despise you, tête-Dieu! and why?”
“For having you!”
“On that point, my beauty, we don’t agree. I ought not to you, but to you.”
The girl looked at him in affright: “Hate me! what have I done?”
“For having so much urging.”
“Alas!” said she, “’tis I am a vow. I shall not my parents! The will its virtue. But what it? What need have I of father or mother now?”
So saying, she upon the captain her great black eyes, with and tenderness.
“Devil take me if I you!” Phœbus. La Esmeralda for a moment, then a tear from her eyes, a from her lips, and she said,—“Oh! monseigneur, I love you.”
Such a perfume of chastity, such a of the girl, that Phœbus did not at his her. But this him: “You love me!” he said with rapture, and he his arm the gypsy’s waist. He had only been waiting for this opportunity.
The saw it, and with the of his the point of a which he in his breast.
“Phœbus,” the Bohemian, her from the captain’s hands, “You are good, you are generous, you are handsome; you saved me, me who am only a child in Bohemia. I had long been of an officer who should save my life. ’Twas of you that I was dreaming, I you, my Phœbus; the officer of my had a like yours, a look, a sword; your name is Phœbus; ’tis a name. I love your name; I love your sword. Draw your sword, Phœbus, that I may see it.”
“Child!” said the captain, and he his with a smile.
The looked at the hilt, the blade; the on the with curiosity, and the sword, saying,—
“You are the of a man. I love my captain.” Phœbus again by the opportunity to upon her a which the girl herself up as as a poppy. The his teeth over it in the dark.
“Phœbus,” the gypsy, “let me talk to you. Pray walk a little, that I may see you at full height, and that I may your jingle. How you are!”
The captain rose to her, her with a of satisfaction,—
“What a child you are! By the way, my charmer, have you me in my archer’s doublet?”
“Alas! no,” she replied.
“It is very handsome!”
Phœbus returned and seated himself her, but much closer than before.
“Listen, my dear—”
The gave him little with her hand on his mouth, with a and and gayety.
“No, no, I will not to you. Do you love me? I want you to tell me you love me.”
“Do I love thee, of my life!” the captain, kneeling. “My body, my blood, my soul, all are thine; all are for thee. I love thee, and I have loved any one but thee.”
The captain had this phrase so many times, in many conjunctures, that he delivered it all in one breath, without a single mistake. At this declaration, the to the dirty which for the a full of happiness.
“Oh!” she murmured, “this is the moment when one should die!”
Phœbus “the moment” for her of another kiss, which to the in his nook. “Die!” the captain, “What are you saying, my angel? ’Tis a time for living, or Jupiter is only a scamp! Die at the of so sweet a thing! Corne-de-bœuf, what a jest! It is not that. Listen, my dear Similar, Esmenarda—Pardon! you have so Saracen a name that I can it straight. ’Tis a which stops me short.”
“Good heavens!” said the girl, “and I my name of its singularity! But since it you, I would that I were called Goton.”
“Ah! do not for such a trifle, my maid! ’tis a name to which one must accustomed, that is all. When I once know it by heart, all will go smoothly. Listen then, my dear Similar; I you passionately. I love you so that ’tis miraculous. I know a girl who is with over it—”
The girl him: “Who?”
“What that to us?” said Phœbus; “do you love me?”
“Oh!”—said she.
“Well! that is all. You shall see how I love you also. May the great Neptunus me if I do not make you the woman in the world. We will have a little house somewhere. I will make my your windows. They are all mounted, and set at those of Captain Mignon. There are voulgiers, and hand couleveiniers[44]. I will take you to the great of the Parisians at the of Rully. Eighty thousand men, thirty thousand white harnesses, or of mail; the sixty-seven of the trades; the of the parliaments, of the of accounts, of the of the generals, of the of the mint; a array, in short! I will you to see the lions of the Hôtel du Roi, which are wild beasts. All love that.”
For moments the girl, in her thoughts, was to the of his voice, without to the of his words.
“Oh! how happy you will be!” the captain, and at the same time he the gypsy’s girdle.
“What are you doing?” she said quickly. This “act of violence” had her from her revery.
“Nothing,” Phœbus, “I was only saying that you must all this of folly, and the when you are with me.”
“When I am with you, Phœbus!” said the girl tenderly.
She and once more.
The captain, by her gentleness, her without resistance; then to the child’s corsage, and her to such an that the the gypsy’s from the gauze, as and as the moon through the of the horizon.
The girl allowed Phœbus to have his way. She did not appear to it. The of the captain flashed.
Suddenly she him,—
“Phœbus,” she said, with an of love, “instruct me in religion.”
“My religion!” the captain, with laughter, “I you in my religion! Corne et tonnerre! What do you want with my religion?”
“In order that we may be married,” she replied.
The captain’s an of and disdain, of and passion.
“Ah, bah!” said he, “do people marry?”
The Bohemian pale, and her sadly on her breast.
“My love,” Phœbus, tenderly, “what nonsense is this? A great thing is marriage, truly! one is none the less for not having Latin into a priest’s shop!”
While speaking thus in his voice, he approached near the gypsy; his hands their place around her and waist, his more and more, and that Monsieur Phœbus was on the of one of those moments when Jupiter himself so many that Homer is to a cloud to his rescue.
But Dom Claude saw everything. The door was of staves, which left large for the passage of his gaze. This brown-skinned, broad-shouldered priest, to the of the cloister, was and in the presence of this night of love and voluptuousness. This and girl over in to the man, melted lead in his-veins; his with all those pins. Any one who could, at that moment, have the of the man to the bars, would have that he the of a tiger from the of a at some a gazelle. His like a through the of the door.
All at once, Phœbus, with a gesture, the gypsy’s gorgerette. The child, who had and dreamy, with a start; she from the officer, and, a at her and shoulders, red, confused, mute with shame, she her two arms on her to it. Had it not been for the which in her cheeks, at the of her so and motionless, one would have her a of Modesty. Her were lowered.
But the captain’s had the which she about her neck.
“What is that?” he said, this to approach once more the he had just alarmed.
“Don’t touch it!” she replied, quickly, “’tis my guardian. It will make me my family again, if I to do so. Oh, me, le capitaine! My mother! My mother! My mother! Where art thou? Come to my rescue! Have pity, Monsieur Phœbus, give me my gorgerette!”
Phœbus said in a cold tone,—
“Oh, mademoiselle! I see that you do not love me!”
“I do not love him!” the child, and at the same time she to the captain, she to a seat her. “I do not love thee, my Phœbus? What art saying, man, to my heart? Oh, take me! take all! do what you will with me, I am thine. What to me the amulet! What to me my mother! ’Tis who art my mother since I love thee! Phœbus, my Phœbus, see me? ’Tis I. Look at me; ’tis the little one surely not repulse, who comes, who comes herself to thee. My soul, my life, my body, my person, all is one thing—which is thine, my captain. Well, no! We will not marry, since that thee; and then, what am I? a girl of the gutters; thou, my Phœbus, art a gentleman. A thing, truly! A dancer an officer! I was mad. No, Phœbus, no; I will be mistress, amusement, pleasure, when wilt; a girl who shall to thee. I was only for that, soiled, despised, dishonored, but what it?—beloved. I shall be the and the most of women. And when I old or ugly, Phœbus, when I am no longer good to love you, you will me to you still. Others will for you; ’tis I, the servant, who will for them. You will let me your spurs, your doublet, your riding-boots. You will have that pity, will you not, Phœbus? Meanwhile, take me! here, Phœbus, all this to thee, only love me! We need only air and love.”
So saying, she her arms the officer’s neck; she looked up at him, supplicatingly, with a smile, and all in tears. Her against his cloth with its embroideries. She on her knees, her naked. The captain pressed his to those African shoulders. The girl, her on the ceiling, as she backwards, quivered, all palpitating, this kiss.
All at once, above Phœbus’s she another head; a green, livid, face, with the look of a soul; near this was a hand a poniard. It was the and hand of the priest; he had the door and he was there. Phœbus not see him. The girl motionless, with terror, dumb, that terrible apparition, like a which should its at the moment when the is into her with its eyes.
She not a cry. She saw the upon Phœbus, and again, reeking.
“Maledictions!” said the captain, and fell.
She fainted.
At the moment when her closed, when all in her, she that she a touch of fire upon her lips, a more than the red-hot iron of the executioner.
When she her senses, she was by soldiers of the watch they were away the captain, in his blood the had disappeared; the window at the of the room which opened on the river was wide open; they up a which they to to the officer and she them saying around her,
“’Tis a who has a captain.”
BOOK EIGHTH.
