However, the windows of the Gondelaurier mansion blazed on even after midnight. Quasimodo, motionless, and ever on the alert, saw a ceaseless crowd of moving, dancing shadows pass across the many–coloured windows. Had he not been deaf, in proportion as the murmur of slumbering Paris died away, he would have heard more and more distinctly from within the Logis Gondelaurier the sound of revelry, of laughter, and of music.

Towards one in the morning the guests began to depart. Quasimodo, crouching in the deep shadow, watched them all as they passed under the torch–lit doorway. The captain was not among them.

He was filled with sadness; now and then he looked up into the air like one weary of waiting. Great black clouds, heavy and ragged, hung in deep festoons under the starry arch of night — the cobwebs of the celestial roof.

At one of these moments he suddenly saw the folding glass door on to the balcony, the stone balustrade of which was dimly visible above him, open cautiously and give passage to a couple, behind whom it closed noiselessly. It was a male and female figure, in whom Quasimodo had no difficulty in recognising the handsome captain and the young lady he had seen that morning welcoming the officer from that same balcony. The Place was in complete darkness, and a thick crimson curtain which had fallen over the glass door as soon as it closed, intercepted any ray of light from the apartment within.

The young couple, as far as our deaf spectator could judge without hearing a word of what they said, appeared to abandon themselves to a very tender tête–á–tête. The lady had evidently permitted the officer to encircle her waist with his arm, and was not too energetically resisting a kiss.

Quasimodo witnessed this scene from below — all the more attractive that it was not intended for any strange eye. With bitterness and pain he looked on at so much happiness, so much beauty. After all, nature was not altogether mute in the poor wretch, and though his back was crooked, his nerves were not less susceptible than another man’s. He thought of the miserable share in life that Providence had meted out to him; that woman, and the joys of love, must forever pass him by; that he could never attain to being more than a spectator of the felicity of others. But that which wrung his heart most in this scene, and added indignation to his chagrin, was that the gipsy would suffer were she to behold it. To be sure, the night was very dark, and Esmeralda, if she still remained at her post (and he did not doubt it), was too far off, considering that he himself could barely distinguish the lovers on the balcony; this consoled him somewhat.

Meanwhile the conversation above became more and more ardent. The lady appeared to be entreating the officer to solicit no more from her; but all that Quasimodo could distinguish were the clasped white hands, the mingled smiles and tears, the soft eyes of the girl uplifted to the stars, the man’s burning gaze devouring her.

Fortunately for the girl, whose resistance was growing weaker, the door of the balcony opened suddenly, and an elder lady appeared; the fair maid seemed confused, the officer disgusted, and all three returned inside.

A moment afterward a horse clattered under the porch, and the gay officer wrapped in his military cloak passed Quasimodo quickly.

The bell–ringer let him turn the corner of the street, and ran after him with his ape–like nimbleness, calling, “Hè there! captain!”

The captain drew up. “What does this rascal want with me?”said he, peering through the darkness at the queer, uncouth figure hobbling after him.

Quasimodo came up to him, and boldly taking the horse by the bridle, said, “Follow me, captain; there’s one here would have speech of you.”