rate it was a Phœbus, and this magic name was a sufficient magnet to draw the Archdeacon after the two thoughtless companions with stealthy step listening to all they said, anxiously attentive to their slightest gesture. For the rest, there was no difficulty in hearing all they had to say, so loudly did they talk, so little did they hesitate to let the passer-by share their confidences. Their talk was of duels, women, wine, folly of all sorts.

As they turned a corner, the sound of a tambourine came to them from a neighbouring side street. Dom Claude heard the officer say to the scholar:

“Thunder! let’s quicken our pace!”

“Why, Phœbus?”

“I’m afraid the gipsy will see me.”

“What gipsy?”

“The girl with the goat.”

“Esmeralda?”

“That’s it, Jehan. I always forget her deuce of a name. Let us hurry past or she will recognise me, and I don’t want the girl to accost me in the street.”

“Do you know her then, Phœbus?”

At first, the Archdeacon saw Phœbus lean over with a grin and whisper something in Jehan’s ear. Phœbus then burst out laughing, and threw up his head with a triumphant air.

“In very truth?” said Jehan.

“Upon my soul!”

“To-night?”

“To-night.”

“Are you sure she’ll come?”

“But you must be mad, Jehan. Is there ever any doubt about these things?”

“Captain Phœbus, you are a lucky warrior!”

The Archdeacon overheard all this conversation. His teeth chattered. A visible shudder ran through his whole frame. He stopped a moment to lean against a post like a drunken man; then he followed the track of the two boon companions.

When he came up with them again they had changed the subject. They were singing at the top of their voices the refrain of an old song: