clasping his hands, " ye bells, tinkle not - ye balls, jingle not!"

He made one more effort with Trouillefou. "And if there come a breath of wind," said he.

"Thou shalt be hanged," replied the other, without hesitation.

Finding that there was no respite, delay, or subterfuge whatsoever, he bravely set about the feat. He turned his right foot about his left leg, sprang up on the toe of his left foot, and stretched out his arm; but the moment that he touched the manikin, his body, which was now supported only by one foot, tottered upon the stool, which had only three, he mechanically caught at the manikin, lost his balance, and fell heavily to the ground, quite deafened by the violent vibration of the scarecrow's thousand bells; while the figure, yielding to the impulse which his hand had given it, first revolved on his own axis, and then swung majestically backwards and forwards between the two posts.

"Malédiction!" he exclaimed as he fell; and he lay with his face to the ground as if he was dead.

However, he heard the awful chime above him, and the diabolical laughter of the Truands, and the voice of Trouillefou saying, "Lift the fellow up, and hang him in a trice."

He rose of himself. They had already unhooked the manikin to make room for him. The Argotiers made him get upon the stool again. Clopin came up to him, passed the rope round his neck, and, slapping him on the shoulder, "Good-by, friend,"

said he; "thou 'lt not get away now, though thou shouldst be as clever as the pope himself."

The word "Mercy!" expired on Gringoire's lips. He cast his eyes round, but saw no gleam of hope; all were laughing.

"Bellevigne de l'Étoile," said the King of Tunis to an enormous Truand, who stepped out of the ranks, "do you get upon the cross-beam."

Bellevigne de l'Étoile climbed nimbly up to the transverse bar; and an instant after, Gringoire, looking up, saw him with terror squatted just above his head.

"Now," continued Clopin Trouillefou, " as soon as I clap my hands, do you, Andry le Rouge, push down the stool with your knee; you, François Chante Prune, hang at the rascal's feet; and you, Bellevigne, drop upon his shoulders; and all three at the same time - do you hear?"

Gringoire shuddered.

"Are you ready?" said Clopin Trouillefou to the three Argotiers, about to throw themselves upon the poet. The poor sufferer had a moment of horrible expectation, while Clopin was quietly pushing into the fire with the point of his shoe some twigs which the flame had not reached. "Are you ready?" he repeated, and he held his hands ready to give the signal. A second more, and all would have been

over.

But he stopped as if something suddenly occurred to him. "Wait a moment," said he; "I'd forgotten. It 's customary for us not to hang a man without first asking if there be a woman that'll have anything to say to him. Comrade, it's thy last chance! thou must marry either a she-truand or the halter."

This law among the gypsies, fantastic as it may seem, is to be found to this day, described at length in the Old English code. See Burington's Observations.

Gringoire took breath. This was the second time he had come to life again within half-an-hour; so that he could not venture to rely very much upon it.

"Hollo!" shouted Clopin, who had reascended his cask: "hollo, there! women! females! is there among you all, from the witch to her cat, ever a jade that'll have anything to say to this rogue? Hollo! Colette la Charonne! Elisabeth Trouvain! Simone Jodouyne! Marie Piédebou! Thonne la Longue! Bérarde Fanouel! Michelle Genaille ! Claude Rouge-oreille! Mathurine Girorou ! Hollo! Isabeau la Thierrye! Come and see! A man for nothing! Who'll have him?"

Gringoire, in this miserable plight, was, it may be supposed, not over inviting. The truandesses displayed no great enthusiasm at the proposal. The unhappy fellow heard them answer: "No, no; hang him! It'll please us all!"

Three of them, however, stepped out of the crowd, and came to reconnoitre him. The first was a large, square-faced young woman. She carefully examined the philosopher's deplorable doublet. The coat was threadbare, and had more holes in it than a chestnutroaster. The woman made a wry face at it. "An old rag!" muttered she; and then addressing Gringoire, "Let's see thy cope."

"I've lost it," said Gringoire.

"Thy hat?"

"They've taken it from me."

"Thy shoes?"

"They've hardly a bit of sole left."

"Thy purse?"

"Alas!" stammered Gringoire, "I've not a single

denier parisis."

"Let them hang thee, and be thankful," replied the truandess, turning her back upon him.

The second woman, old, dark, wrinkled, of an ugliness conspicuous even in the Court of Miracles, now made the circuit of Gringoire. He almost trembled lest she should want to have him. But she only muttered, "He's too lean," and went her way. The third that came was a young girl, fresh"Save

complexioned, and not very ill-looking. me!" whispered the poor devil. She looked at him for a moment with an air of pity, then cast down her eyes, made a plait in her skirt, and remained undecided. He watched her every motion; it was his last gleam of hope. "No," said the girl at last; "no-Guillaume Longue-joue would beat me." And she returned into the crowd.

"Comrade," said Clopin, " thou 'rt unlucky." Then, standing up on his barrel, "So nobody bids?" cried he, mimicking the tone of an auctioneer, to the great diversion of them all, - " so nobody bids? Going going - going - -" then turning towards the gallows with a motion of his head, "gone."

66

Bellevigne de l'Étoile, Andry le Rouge, and François Chante-Prune again approached Gringoire. At

that moment a cry was raised among the Argotiers, of "La Esmeralda! la Esmeralda!"

Gringoire started, and turned towards the side from which the shout proceeded. The crowd opened, and made way for a clear and dazzling countenance. It was that of the gypsy girl.

"La Esmeralda!" said Gringoire, amazed, in the midst of his emotions, by the instantaneousness with which that magic word linked together all his recollections of that day.

This fascinating creature seemed to exercise, even over the Court of Miracles, her sway of grace and beauty. Argotiers, male and female, drew up gently to let her pass by; and their brutal countenances grew kindly at her look.

She approached the sufferer with her elastic step, her pretty Djali following her. Gringoire was more dead than alive. She gazed at him for a moment in silence.

"So you're going to hang that man," said she gravely to Clopin.

"Yes, sister," answered the King of Tunis,

less thou wilt take him for thy husband."

un

She made her pretty little grimace with the under lip. "I take him," she said.

And now Gringoire was firmly persuaded that he must have been in a dream ever since the morning, and that this was but a continuation of it. In fact, the turn of events, though gratifying, was a violent one. They undid the noose and let the poet descend from the stool. The violence of his emotion obliged him to sit down.