CONTINUATION OF THE KEY TO THE RED DOOR.
That night, la Esmeralda had asleep in her cell, full of oblivion, of hope, and of sweet thoughts. She had already been asleep for some time, as always, of Phœbus, when it to her that she a noise near her. She slept and uneasily, the sleep of a bird; a nothing her. She opened her eyes. The night was very dark. Nevertheless, she saw a at her through the window; a lamp up this apparition. The moment that the saw that la Esmeralda had it, it out the lamp. But the girl had had time to catch a of it; her closed again with terror.
“Oh!” she said in a voice, “the priest!”
All her past came to her like a of lightning. She on her bed, chilled.
A moment later she a touch along her which her so that she herself up in a posture, wide and furious.
The had just in her. He her with arms.
She to and not.
“Begone, monster! assassin!” she said, in a voice which was low and with and terror.
“Mercy! mercy!” the priest, pressing his to her shoulder.
She his by its of and to his as though they had been bites.
“Mercy!” the man. “If you but what my love for you is! ’Tis fire, melted lead, a thousand in my heart.”
She stopped his two arms with force.
“Let me go,” she said, “or I will in your face!”
He her. “Vilify me, me, be malicious! Do what you will! But have mercy! love me!”
Then she him with the of a child. She her hands to his face. “Begone, demon!”
“Love me! love me! pity!” the returning her with caresses.
All at once she him than herself.
“There must be an end to this!” he said, his teeth.
She was conquered, in his arms, and in his power. She a hand over her. She a last effort, and to cry: “Help! Help! A vampire! a vampire!”
Nothing came. Djali alone was and with anguish.
“Hush!” said the priest.
All at once, as she and on the floor, the gypsy’s hand came in with something cold and metallic—it was Quasimodo’s whistle. She it with a hope, it to her and with all the that she had left. The gave a clear, sound.
“What is that?” said the priest.
Almost at the same he himself by a arm. The was dark; he not who it was that him thus; but he teeth with rage, and there was just light among the to allow him to see above his the of a large knife.
The that he the of Quasimodo. He that it be no one but he. He to have stumbled, as he entered, over a which was across the door on the outside. But, as the did not a word, he not what to think. He himself on the arm which the knife, crying: “Quasimodo!” He forgot, at that moment of distress, that Quasimodo was deaf.
In a twinkling, the was and a rested on his breast.
From the of that he Quasimodo; but what was to be done? how he make the other him? the the man blind.
He was lost. The girl, as an tigress, did not to save him. The knife was his head; the moment was critical. All at once, his with hesitation.
“No blood on her!” he said in a voice.
It was, in fact, Quasimodo’s voice.
Then the a large hand him out of the cell; it was there that he was to die. Fortunately for him, the moon had a moments before.
When they had passed through the door of the cell, its upon the priest’s countenance. Quasimodo looked him full in the face, a him, and he the and back.
The gypsy, who had to the of her cell, with their changed. It was now the who menaced, Quasimodo who was the suppliant.
The priest, who was the man with of and reproach, the a to retire.
The man his head, then he came and at the gypsy’s door,—“Monseigneur,” he said, in a and voice, “you shall do all that you afterwards, but kill me first.”
So saying, he presented his knife to the priest. The priest, himself, was about to it. But the girl was than he; she the knife from Quasimodo’s hands and into a laugh,—“Approach,” she said to the priest.
She the high. The undecided.
She would have him.
Then she added with a expression, well aware that she was about to the priest’s with thousands of red-hot irons,—
“Ah! I know that Phœbus is not dead!”
The Quasimodo on the with a kick, and, with rage, under the of the staircase.
When he was gone, Quasimodo up the which had just saved the gypsy.
“It was rusty,” he said, as he it to her; then he left her alone.
The girl, by this scene, on her bed, and to and weep. Her was once more.
The had his way to his cell.
It was settled. Dom Claude was of Quasimodo!
He with a air his words: “No one shall have her.”
BOOK TENTH.
