and rebounding on to the pavement with the noise of a piece of artillery, breaking here and there the legs of others among the Vagabond crowd, which fled in all directions with cries of terror. In a trice the enclosure of the Parvis was empty. The door-breakers, though protected by the deep arches of the doorway, abandoned it, and Clopin himself fell back to a respectful distance from the church.

“Tête-bœuf! I had a narrow escape!” cried Jehan. “I felt the wind of it; but Pierre the Feller is felled at last.”

It would be impossible to describe the mingled astonishment and alarm that fell with this beam upon the bandit crew. They remained for a few minutes gazing open-mouthed into the air, in greater consternation at this piece of wood than at twenty thousand King’s archers.

“Satan!” growled the Duke of Egypt, “but this smells of magic!”

“It’s the moon that’s thrown this log at us,” said Andry le Rouge.

“That’s it,” returned Francois Chanteprune, “for they say the moon’s the friend of the Virgin.”

“A thousand popes!” cried Clopin, “you’re a parcel of dunderheads, the whole lot of you!” But he knew no better than they how to account for the beam, for nothing was perceptible on the front of the building, to the top of which the light of the torches could not reach. The ponderous beam lay in the middle of the Parvis, and the groans of the poor wretches could be heard who had received its first shock and had been almost cut in two on the sharp edges of the stone steps.

At last the King of Tunis, his first surprise past, discovered an explanation which seemed plausible to his fellows.

“Gueule-Dieu! Can the clergy be making a defence? If that be so, then—to the sack! to the sack!”

“To the sack!” yelled the band with a furious hurrah, and discharged a volley of cross-bows and arquebuses against the façade of the Cathedral.

Roused by the detonation, the peaceable inhabitants of the surrounding houses awoke, several windows opened, and nightcapped heads appeared at the casements.

“Fire at the windows!” shouted Clopin. The shutters closed on the instant, and the poor citizens, who had only had time to catch a bewildered glimpse of the scene of glare and tumult, returned in a cold perspiration of fright to their wives, wondering whether the witches now held their Sabbaths in the Parvis of Notre-Dame, or whether it was another assault by the Burgundians, as in ’64. The men thought of robbery; the wives, of rape; and all trembled.

“To the sack!” repeated the Argotiers; but they did not venture closer. They looked from the Cathedral to the mysterious beam. The beam lay perfectly still, the church preserved its peaceful, solitary aspect; but something froze the courage of the Vagabonds.

“To your work, lads!” cried Trouillefou. “Come—force the door!”

Nobody stirred a step.

“Beard and belly!” exclaimed Clopin; “why, here are men afraid of a rafter!”

An old Vagabond now addressed him:

“Captain, it’s not the rafter we mind, ’tis the door. That’s all covered with bars of iron. The picks are no good against it.”

“What do you want, then, to burst it open?” inquired Clopin.