Confused and bewildered, he knew not where he went. A few steps farther on he found himself on the Pont Saint-Michel. There was a light in a low window close by: he approached it. Through the cracked panes he saw into a dirty room which awakened some dim recollection in his mind. By the feeble rays of a squalid lamp he discerned a young man, with a fair and joyous face, who with much boisterous laughter was embracing a tawdry, shamelessly dressed girl. Beside the lamp sat an old woman spinning and singing in a quavering voice. In the pauses of the young man’s laughter the priest caught fragments of the old woman’s song. It was weird and horrible:

And the young man laughed and fondled the girl all the while. The old woman was La Falourdel, the girl was a courtesan of the town, and the young man was his brother Jehan.

He continued to look on at the scene— as well see this as any other.

He saw Jehan go to a window at the back of the room, open it, glance across at the quay where a thousand lighted windows twinkled, and then heard him say as he closed the window:

“As I live, it is night already! The townsfolk are lighting their candles, and God Almighty his stars.”

Jehan returned to his light o’ love, and smashing a bottle that stood on a table, he exclaimed: “Empty, cor-bœuf!— and I’ve no money! Isabeau, my chuck, I shall never be satisfied with Jupiter till he has turned your two white breasts into two black bottles, that I may suck Beaune wine from them day and night!”

With this delicate pleasantry, which made the courtesan laugh, Jehan left the house.

Dom Claude had barely time to throw himself on the ground to escape meeting his brother face to face and being recognised. Happily the street was dark and the scholar drunk. Nevertheless he did notice the figure lying prone in the mud.

“Oh! oh!” said he, “here’s somebody has had a merry time of it to-day!”

He gave Dom Claude a push with his foot, while the older man held his breath with fear.

“Dead drunk!” exclaimed Jehan. “Bravo, he is full. A veritable leech dropped off a wine cask— and bald into the bargain,” he added as he stooped. “’Tis an old man! Fortunate senex!”

“For all that,” Dom Claude heard him say as he continued his way, “wisdom is a grand thing, and my brother the Archdeacon is a lucky man to be wise and always have money!”

The Archdeacon then rose and hastened at the top of his speed towards Notre-Dame, the huge towers of which he could see rising through the gloom above the houses.

But when he reached the Parvis, breathless and panting, he dared not lift his eyes to the baleful edifice.

“Oh,” he murmured, “can it really be that such a thing took place here to-day— this very morning?”