THE CROWN CHANGED INTO A DRY LEAF.
Gringoire and the entire Court of Miracles were anxiety. For a whole month they had not what had of la Esmeralda, which the Duke of Egypt and his friends the vagabonds, what had of the goat, which Gringoire’s grief. One the had disappeared, and since that time had no of life. All search had proved fruitless. Some had told Gringoire about meeting her that same near the Pont Saint-Michel, going off with an officer; but this husband, after the fashion of Bohemia, was an philosopher, and besides, he, than any one else, to what a point his wife was virginal. He had been able to a as to the resulting from the of the and the gypsy, and he had calculated the of that to the second power. Accordingly, he was at on that score.
Still he not this disappearance. It was a sorrow. He would have thin over it, had that been possible. He had everything, his tastes, his great work, De et irregularibus, which it was his to have printed with the money which he should (for he had over printing, since he had the “Didascalon” of Hugues de Saint Victor, printed with the of Vindelin de Spire).
One day, as he was sadly the Tournelle, he a at one of the gates of the Palais de Justice.
“What is this?” he of a man who was out.
“I know not, sir,” the man. “’Tis said that they are trying a woman who a gendarme. It that there is at the of it, the and the official have in the case, and my brother, who is the of Josas, can think of nothing else. Now, I to speak with him, but I have not been able to him of the throng, which me greatly, as I in need of money.”
“Alas! sir,” said Gringoire, “I would that I you some, but, my are to holes, and ’tis not which have done it.”
He not tell the man that he was with his the archdeacon, to he had not returned after the in the church; a which embarrassed him.
The his way, and Gringoire set out to the which was the of the great chamber. In his opinion, there was nothing like the of a for melancholy, so are as a rule. The which he had joined walked and in silence. After a slow and through a long, corridor, which through the court-house like the of the edifice, he near a low door, opening upon a which his permitted him to survey with a over the of the rabble.
The was and gloomy, which it appear still more spacious. The day was declining; the long, pointed permitted only a of light to enter, which was it the ceiling, an trellis-work of beams, thousand to move in the shadows, many were already here and there on tables, and on the of in of documents. The of the was by the crowd; on the right and left were and tables; at the end, upon a platform, a number of judges, rank into the shadows, and faces. The were with fleurs-de-lis. A large of Christ might be above the judges, and there were and halberds, upon points the of the of fire.
“Monsieur,” Gringoire of one of his neighbors, “who are all those yonder, like in council?”
“Monsieur,” the neighbor, “those on the right are the of the chamber; those on the left, the of inquiry; the masters in black gowns, the in red.”
“Who is that big red fellow, above them, who is sweating?” Gringoire.
“It is the president.”
“And those sheep him?” Gringoire, who as we have seen, did not love the magistracy, which arose, possibly, from the which he against the Palais de Justice since his misadventure.
“They are the masters of of the king’s household.”
“And that in of him?”
“He is the of the Court of Parliament.”
“And that on the right?”
“Master Philippe Lheulier, of the king.”
“And that big, black tom-cat on the left?”
“Master Jacques Charmolue, of the king in the Ecclesiastical Court, with the of the officialty.”
“Come now, monsieur,” said Gringoire, “pray what are all those doing yonder?”
“They are judging.”
“Judging whom? I do not see the accused.”
“’Tis a woman, sir. You cannot see her. She has her to us, and she is from us by the crowd. Stay, she is, where you see a group of partisans.”
“Who is the woman?” asked Gringoire. “Do you know her name?”
“No, monsieur, I have but just arrived. I assume that there is some about it, since the official is present at the trial.”
“Come!” said our philosopher, “we are going to see all these flesh. ’Tis as good a as any other.”
“Monsieur,” his neighbor, “think you not, that Master Jacques Charmolue has a very sweet air?”
“Hum!” Gringoire. “I a which and thin lips.”
Here the upon the two chatterers. They were to an deposition.
“Messeigneurs,” said an old woman in the middle of the hall, was so her that one would have her a walking of rags; “Messeigneurs, the thing is as true as that I am la Falourdel, these years at the Pont Saint Michel, and paying my rents, lord’s dues, and rents; at the gate opposite the house of Tassin-Caillart, the dyer, which is on the up the river—a old woman now, but a in days, my lords. Some one said to me lately, ‘La Falourdel, don’t use your spinning-wheel too much in the evening; the is of the of old with his horns. ’Tis that the monk who was about the temple last year, now in the City. Take care, La Falourdel, that he not at your door.’ One I was on my wheel, there comes a at my door; I ask who it is. They swear. I open. Two men enter. A man in black and a officer. Of the black man nothing be but his eyes, two of fire. All the was and cloak. They say to me,—‘The Sainte-Marthe chamber.’—’Tis my upper chamber, my lords, my cleanest. They give me a crown. I put the in my drawer, and I say: ‘This shall go to at the slaughter-house of la Gloriette to-morrow.’ We go up stairs. On at the upper chamber, and while my is turned, the black man disappears. That me a bit. The officer, who was as as a great lord, goes stairs again with me. He goes out. In about the time it takes to a of a of flax, he returns with a girl, a who would have like the sun had she been coiffed. She had with her a goat; a big billy-goat, black or white, I no longer remember. That set me to thinking. The girl not me, but the goat! I love not those beasts, they have a and horns. They are so like a man. And then, they of the witches, sabbath. However, I say nothing. I had the crown. That is right, is it not, Monsieur Judge? I the captain and the to the upper chamber, and I them alone; that is to say, with the goat. I go and set to again—I must you that my house has a ground and above. I know not why I to of the monk the had put into my again, and then the girl was out. All at once, I a upstairs, and something on the and the window opens. I to mine which is it, and I a black pass my and into the water. It was a like a priest. It was a moonlight night. I saw him plainly. He was in the direction of the city. Then, all of a tremble, I call the watch. The of the police enter, and not just at the moment what the was, and being merry, they me. I to them. We go up stairs, and what do we find? my all blood, the captain out at full length with a in his neck, the girl to be dead, and the all in a fright. ‘Pretty work!’ I say, ‘I shall have to wash that for more than a fortnight. It will have to be scraped; it will be a terrible job.’ They off the officer, man, and the with her all bare. But wait, the is that on the next day, when I wanted to take the to tripe, I a in its place.”
The old woman ceased. A of ran through the audience.
“That phantom, that goat,—all of magic,” said one of Gringoire’s neighbors.
“And that leaf!” added another.
“No about it,” joined in a third, “she is a who has with the monk, for the purpose of officers.”
Gringoire himself was not to this as and probable.
“Goody Falourdel,” said the president majestically, “have you nothing more to to the court?”
“No, monseigneur,” the crone, “except that the report has my house as a and stinking; which is an fashion of speaking. The houses on the are not imposing, there are such of people; but, nevertheless, the continue to there, who are folk, and married to very proper and women.”
The who had Gringoire of a rose,—
“Silence!” said he. “I pray the not to of the that a was on the person of the accused. Goody Falourdel, have you that into which the which the gave you was transformed?
“Yes, monseigneur,” she replied; “I it again. Here it is.”
A the to the crocodile, who a shake of the head, and passed it on to the president, who gave it to the of the king in the court, and thus it the of the hall.
“It is a leaf,” said Master Jacques Charmolue. “A fresh proof of magic.”
A took up the word.
“Witness, two men together in your house: the black man, you saw and in the Seine, with his garments, and the officer. Which of the two you the crown?” The old woman for a moment and then said,—
“The officer.”
A ran through the crowd.
“Ah!” Gringoire, “this makes some in my mind.”
But Master Philippe Lheulier, to the king, once more.
“I will to these gentlemen, that in the taken at his bedside, the officer, while that he had a idea when the black man him that the might be the monk, added that the had pressed him to go and make with the accused; and upon his, the captain’s, that he had no money, he had him the which the said officer paid to la Falourdel. Hence, that is the money of hell.”
This appeared to all the of Gringoire and the other in the audience.
“You have the documents, gentlemen,” added the king’s advocate, as he took his seat; “you can the of Phœbus de Châteaupers.”
At that name, the up, her rose above the throng. Gringoire with la Esmeralda.
She was pale; her tresses, so and with sequins, in disorder; her were blue, her were terrible. Alas!
“Phœbus!” she said, in bewilderment; “where is he? O messeigneurs! you kill me, tell me, for sake, he still lives?”
“Hold your tongue, woman,” the president, “that is no of ours.”
“Oh! for mercy’s sake, tell me if he is alive!” she repeated, her hands; and the of her in with her dress, was heard.
“Well!” said the king’s roughly, “he is dying. Are you satisfied?”
The girl on her criminal’s seat, speechless, tearless, white as a figure.
The president to a man at his feet, who a gold cap and a black gown, a on his and a in his hand.
“Bailiff, in the second accused.”
All a small door, which opened, and, to the great of Gringoire, gave passage to a with and of gold. The for a moment on the threshold, out its as though, on the of a rock, it had its an horizon. Suddenly it of the girl, and over the table and the of a clerk, in two it was at her knees; then it rolled on its mistress’s feet, a word or a caress; but the motionless, and Djali himself not a glance.
“Eh, why—’tis my beast,” said old Falourdel, “I the two perfectly!”
Jacques Charmolue interfered.
“If the please, we will to the of the goat.” He was, in fact, the second criminal. Nothing more in those days than a of against an animal. We find, among others in the of the provost’s office for 1466, a detail the of the trial of Gillet-Soulart and his sow, “executed for their demerits,” at Corbeil. Everything is there, the cost of the in which to place the sow, the five hundred of purchased at the port of Morsant, the three of and the bread, the last of the by the executioner, to the eleven days of and food for the sow, at eight each. Sometimes, they than animals. The of Charlemagne and of Louis le Débonnaire on which to appear in the air.
Meanwhile the had exclaimed: “If the which this goat, and which has all exorcisms, in its of witchcraft, if it the with them, we it that we shall be to put in against it the or the stake. Gringoire out into a cold perspiration. Charmolue took from the table the gypsy’s tambourine, and it to the goat, in a manner, asked the latter,—
“What o’clock is it?”
The looked at it with an eye, its hoof, and seven blows.
It was, in fact, seven o’clock. A movement of terror ran through the crowd.
Gringoire not it.
“He is himself!” he aloud; “You see well that he not know what he is doing.”
“Silence among the at the end of the hall!” said the sharply.
Jacques Charmolue, by the of the same manœuvres of the tambourine, the perform many other with the date of the day, the month of the year, etc., which the reader has already witnessed. And, by of an to proceedings, these same who had, probably, more than once in the public square Djali’s magic were by it the of the Palais de Justice. The was the devil.
It was when the of the king, having upon a a with letters, which Djali his neck, they the with his from the the name of Phœbus. The of which the captain had been the appeared demonstrated, and in the of all, the gypsy, that dancer, who had so often the passers-by with her grace, was no longer anything but a vampire.
However, she no of life; neither Djali’s evolutions, the of the court, the of the any longer her mind.
In order to her, a police officer was to shake her unmercifully, and the president had to his voice,—
“Girl, you are of the Bohemian race, to of witchcraft. You, in with the in this suit, the night of the twenty-ninth of March last, and stabbed, in with the powers of darkness, by the of and practices, a captain of the king’s of the watch, Phœbus de Châteaupers. Do you in it?”
“Horror!” the girl, her in her hands. “My Phœbus! Oh, this is hell!”
“Do you in your denial?” the president coldly.
“Do I it?” she said with terrible accents; and she rose with eyes.
The president squarely,—
“Then how do you the to your charge?”
She in a voice,—
“I have already told you. I do not know. ’Twas a priest, a I do not know; an who me!”
“That is it,” the judge; “the monk.”
“Oh, gentlemen! have mercy! I am but a girl—”
“Of Egypt,” said the judge.
Master Jacques Charmolue sweetly,—
“In view of the sad of the accused, I the of the torture.”
“Granted,” said the president.
The girl in every limb. But she rose at the of the men with partisans, and walked with a step, by Charmolue and the of the officiality, two of halberds, a medium-sized door which opened and closed again her, and which produced upon the grief-stricken Gringoire the of a mouth which had just her.
When she disappeared, they a bleating; it was the little mourning.
The of the was suspended. A having that the were fatigued, and that it would be a long time to wait until the was at an end, the president that a must know how to himself to his duty.
“What an and hussy,” said an judge, “to herself put to the question when one has not supped!”
