“And as wicked as he is ugly,” returned another.

“ ’Tis the devil himself,” added a third.

“I am unlucky enough to live near Notre-Dame. I hear him scrambling about the leads all night.”

“With the cats.”

“He’s forever on our roofs.”

“He casts spells at us down our chimneys.”

“The other night he came and made faces at me through my sky-light window. I thought it was a man. What a fright I got!”

“I am certain he goes to the witches’ Sabbath. He once left a broom on my leads.”

“Oh, his horrid hunchback’s face!”

“Oh, the wicked creature!”

“Fie upon him!”

On the other hand, the men were enchanted and applauded vociferously.

Meanwhile Quasimodo, the object of all this uproar, stood grave and unmoved in the doorway of the Chapel, and suffered himself to be admired. One of the scholars, Robin Poussepain I think it was, came up and laughed in his face —somewhat too close. Without a word Quasimodo seized him by the belt and tossed him into the crowd full ten paces off.

“God’s cross! Holy Father!” exclaimed Master Coppenole in amazement. “Yours is the rarest ugliness I have ever beheld in all my born days. You deserve to be Pope of Rome, as well as of Paris.” And so saying, he clapped a jovial hand on the hunchback’s shoulder.

Quasimodo did not stir. “Now here’s a fellow,” continued Coppenole, “I have a mind to dine with, even if it cost me a new douzain of twelve livres tournois. What say you?”

Quasimodo made no reply.

“Croix-Dieu!” cried the hosier, “art deaf?”

As a matter of fact he was deaf.

However, he began to be annoyed by Coppenole’s manner, and suddenly turned upon him with such a snarl that the Flemish giant recoiled like a bulldog before a cat.

The result of this was that a circle of terror and respect, with a radius of at least fifteen geometric paces, was formed around the alarming personage.

An old woman explained to Master Coppenole that Quasimodo was deaf.

“Deaf?” cried the hosier with his great Flemish guffaw; “Croix-Dieu! then he’s every inch a Pope!”

“Why, I know him!” exclaimed Jehan, who by this time had clambered down from his pillar to examine the hunchback more closely. “It’s my brother the Archdeacon’s bell-ringer. Good-day, Quasimodo.”