A councillor then took up the word. “Witness, you say two men went up together in your house: the man in black whom you first saw disappear and then swimming in the Seine in priest’s habit, and the officer. Which of the two gave you the crown?”

The hag reflected for a moment, then answered, “It was the officer.”

A murmur ran through the crowd.

“Ah,” thought Gringoire, “that somewhat shakes my conviction.”

But Maître Philippe Lheulier again interposed. “I would remind you, gentlemen, that in the deposition taken down at his beside the murdered officer, while stating that a vague suspicion had crossed his mind at the instant when the black man accosted him, that it might be the spectre-monk, added, that the phantom had eagerly urged him to go and meet the accused, and on his (the captain’s) observing that he was without money, had given him the crown which the said officer paid to La Falourdel. Thus the crown is a coin of hell.”

This conclusive observation appeared to dissipate all doubts entertained by Gringoire or any other sceptics among the listeners.

“Gentlemen, you have the documents in hand,” added the advocate as he seated himself, “you can consult the deposition of Phœbus de Châteaupers.”

At this name the accused started up. Her head was now above the crowd. Gringoire, aghast, recognised Esmeralda.

She was deadly pale; her hair, once so charmingly braided and spangled with sequins, fell about her in disorder; her lips were blue, her sunken eyes horrifying. Alas!

“Phœbus!” she cried distraught, “where is he? Oh, my lords, before you kill me, in mercy tell me if he yet lives!”

“Silence, woman!” answered the President; “that is not our concern.”

“Oh, in pity, tell me if he lives!” she cried again, clasping her beautiful wasted hands; and her chains clanked as she moved.

“Well, then,” said the King’s advocate dryly, “he is at the point of death. Does that satisfy you?”

The wretched girl fell back in her seat, speechless, tearless, white as a waxen image.

The President leaned down to a man at his feet who wore a gilded cap and a black gown, a chain round his neck, and a wand in his hand.

“Usher, bring in the second accused.”

All eyes were turned towards a little door which opened, and to Gringoire’s great trepidation gave entrance to a pretty little goat with gilded horns and hoofs. The graceful creature stood a moment on the threshold stretching her neck exactly as if, poised on the summit of a rock, she had a vast expanse before her eyes. Suddenly she caught sight of the gipsy girl, and leaping over the table and the head of the clerk in two bounds, she was at her mistress’s knee. She then crouched at Esmeralda’s feet, begging for a word or a caress; but the prisoner remained motionless, even little Djali could not win a glance from her.

“Why— ’tis my ugly brute,” said old Falourdel, “and now I recognise them both perfectly!”

“An it please you, gentlemen, we will proceed to the interrogation of the goat.”