end of every path, you had a full view of the wheel, the gibbet, or the pillory. You knew, at least, exactly where you were.

The clerk presented the sentence to the Provost, who affixed his seal to it and then departed, to continue his round through the several courts of law, in a frame of mind which seemed likely, for that day, to fill every jail in Paris. Jehan Frollo and Robin Poussepain were laughing in their sleeve, while Quasimodo regarded the whole scene with an air of surprise and indifference.

Nevertheless, the clerk, while Maître Florian was engaged in reading over the judgment before signing it in his turn, felt some qualms of compassion for the poor devil under sentence, and in the hope of obtaining some mitigation of his penalties, bent as near as he could to the examiner’s ear, and said, pointing to Quasimodo, “The man is deaf.”

He hoped that the knowledge of a common infirmity would awaken Maître Florian’s interest in favour of the condemned. But in the first place, as we have already explained, Maître Florian did not like to have his deafness commented upon; and secondly, that he was so hard of hearing that he did not catch one word the clerk was saying. Desiring, however, to conceal this fact, he replied: “Ah! that makes all the difference. I did not know that. In that case, one more hour of pillory for him.” And, this modification made, he signed the sentence.

“And serve him right too,” said Robin Poussepain, who still owed Quasimodo a grudge; “that’ll teach him to handle folks so roughly.”