ye, old lady, I prefer my omelets bald. May the devil flatten thy nose! A fine tavern of Beelzebub, in sooth, where the wenches comb themselves with the forks!”

With which he smashed his plate on the floor and began singing in an ear-splitting voice:

“By the blood of Christ,
I lay no store
By faith or law,
Neither hearth nor home
Do I call my own,
Nor God,
Nor King!”

By this time Clopin Trouillefou had finished distributing his arms. Approaching Gringoire, who seemed plunged in profound reverie, his feet on a log:

“Friend Pierre,”said the King of Tunis, “what the devil art thinking about?”

Gringoire turned to him with a melancholy smile. “I love the fire, my dear sir. Not for the trivial reason that it warms our feet and cooks our soup, but because it throws out sparks. Sometimes I pass whole hours watching the sparks. I discover a host of things in those stars that sprinkle the dark background of the fire-place. Those stars are worlds.”

“The fiend take me if I understand thee,”said the Vagabond. “Dost thou know what’s o’clock?”

“I do not,”answered Gringoire. Clopin went to the Duke of Egypt.

“Comrade Mathias, the moment is ill-chosen. They say King Louis is in Paris.”

“All the more need for getting our sister out of his clutches,”answered the old Bohemian.

“You speak like a man, Mathias,”returned the King of Tunis. “Besides, it will be an easy matter. There’s no resistance to fear in the church. The priests are so many hares, and we are in full force. The men of the Parliament will be finely balked to-morrow when they come to fetch her! By the bowels of the Pope, they shall not hang the pretty creature!”

Clopin then left the tavern.

In the meantime Jehan was shouting hoarsely: “I drink —I eat—I’m drunk—I am Jupiter! Ah, Pierre l’ Assommeur, if thou glarest at me again in that manner, I’ll dust thy nose with my fist!”

Gringoire, on his part, aroused from his meditations, was contemplating the wild scene of license and uproar around him, while he murmured to himself: “Luxuriosa res vinum et tumultuosa ebrietas.5

Ah, how wise am I to eschew drinking, and how excellent is the saying of Saint-Benedict: Vinum apostatare facit etiam sapientes!”6

At this moment Clopin returned and shouted in a voice of thunder, “Midnight!”

The word acted on the truands like the order to mount on a regiment, and the entire band—men, women, and children—poured out of the tavern with a great clatter of arms and iron. The moon was obscured. The Court of Miracles lay in utter darkness—not a single light was to be seen, but it was far from being deserted. A great crowd of men and women stood in the Place talking to one another in low voices. There was a continuous deep hum, and many a weapon flashed in the gloom.

Clopin mounted on a great stone. “To your ranks, Argot!”cried he. “To your ranks, Egypt! To your ranks, Galilee!”

A movement ran through the darkness. The vast multitude seemed to be forming in columns. After a few minutes the King of Tunis once more lifted up his voice:


  By PanEris using Melati.

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