the hunchback of notre dame-第95章

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　ear；　she　half　opened　her　eyes；　then　below　her　she　confusedly　beheld　Paris　checkered　with　its　thousand　roofs　of　slate　and　tiles；　like　a　red　and　blue　mosaic；　above　her　head　the　frightful　and　joyous　face　of　Quasimodo。　Then　her　eyelids　drooped　again；　she　thought　that　all　was　over；　that　they　had　executed　her　during　her　swoon；　and　that　the　misshapen　spirit　which　had　presided　over　her　destiny；　had　laid　hold　of　her　and　was　bearing　her　away。　　She　dared　not　look　at　him；　and　she　surrendered　herself　to　her　fate。　But　when　the　bellringer；　dishevelled　and　panting；　had　deposited　her　in　the　cell　of　refuge；　when　she　felt　his　huge　hands　gently　detaching　the　cord　which　bruised　her　arms；　she　felt　that　sort　of　shock　which　awakens　with　a　start　the　passengers　of　a　vessel　which　runs　aground　in　the　middle　of　a　dark　night。　　Her　thoughts　awoke　also；　and　returned　to　her　one　by　one。　　She　saw　that　she　was　in　Notre…Dame；　she　remembered　having　been　torn　from　the　hands　of　the　executioner；　that　Phoebus　was　alive；　that　Phoebus　loved　her　no　longer；　and　as　these　two　ideas；　one　of　which　shed　so　much　bitterness　over　the　other；　presented　themselves　simultaneously　to　the　poor　condemned　girl；　she　turned　to　Quasimodo；　who　was　standing　in　front　of　her；　and　who　terrified　her；　she　said　to　him；〃Why　have　you　saved　me？〃

He　gazed　at　her　with　anxiety；　as　though　seeking　to　divine　what　she　was　saying　to　him。　　She　repeated　her　question。　Then　he　gave　her　a　profoundly　sorrowful　glance　and　fled。　She　was　astonished。

A　few　moments　later　he　returned；　bearing　a　package　which　he　cast　at　her　feet。　　It　was　clothing　which　some　charitable　women　had　left　on　the　threshold　of　the　church　for　her。

Then　she　dropped　her　eyes　upon　herself　and　saw　that　she　was　almost　naked；　and　blushed。　　Life　had　returned。

Quasimodo　appeared　to　experience　something　of　this　modesty。　He　covered　his　eyes　with　his　large　hand　and　retired　once　more；　but　slowly。

She　made　haste　to　dress　herself。　　The　robe　was　a　white　one　with　a　white　veil；the　garb　of　a　novice　of　the　H？tel…Dien。

She　had　barely　finished　when　she　beheld　Quasimodo　returning。　He　carried　a　basket　under　one　arm　and　a　mattress　under　the　other。　　In　the　basket　there　was　a　bottle；　bread；　and　some　provisions。　　He　set　the　basket　on　the　floor　and　said；　〃Eat！〃　He　spread　the　mattress　on　the　flagging　and　said；　〃Sleep。〃

It　was　his　own　repast；　it　was　his　own　bed；　which　the　bellringer　had　gone　in　search　of。

The　gypsy　raised　her　eyes　to　thank　him；　but　she　could　not　articulate　a　word。　　She　dropped　her　head　with　a　quiver　of　terror。

Then　he　said　to　her。　…

〃I　frighten　you。　　I　am　very　ugly；　am　I　not？　　Do　not　look　at　me；　only　listen　to　me。　　During　the　day　you　will　remain　here；　at　night　you　can　walk　all　over　the　church。　　But　do　not　leave　the　church　either　by　day　or　by　night。　　You　would　be　lost。　　They　would　kill　you；　and　I　should　die。〃

She　was　touched　and　raised　her　head　to　answer　him。　　He　had　disappeared。　　She　found　herself　alone　once　more；　meditating　upon　the　singular　words　of　this　almost　monstrous　being；　and　struck　by　the　sound　of　his　voice；　which　was　so　hoarse　yet　so　gentle。

Then　she　examined　her　cell。　　It　was　a　chamber　about　six　feet　square；　with　a　small　window　and　a　door　on　the　slightly　sloping　plane　of　the　roof　formed　of　flat　stones。　　Many　gutters　with　the　figures　of　animals　seemed　to　be　bending　down　around　her；　and　stretching　their　necks　in　order　to　stare　at　her　through　the　window。　　Over　the　edge　of　her　roof　she　perceived　the　tops　of　thousands　of　chimneys　which　caused　the　smoke　of　all　the　fires　in　Paris　to　rise　beneath　her　eyes。　　A　sad　sight　for　the　poor　gypsy；　a　foundling；　condemned　to　death；　an　unhappy　creature；　without　country；　without　family；　without　a　hearthstone。

At　the　moment　when　the　thought　of　her　isolation　thus　appeared　to　her　more　poignant　than　ever；　she　felt　a　bearded　and　hairy　head　glide　between　her　hands；　upon　her　knees。　　She　started　（everything　alarmed　her　now）　and　looked。　　It　was　the　poor　goat；　the　agile　Djali；　which　had　made　its　escape　after　her；　at　the　moment　when　Quasimodo　had　put　to　flight　Charmolue's　brigade；　and　which　had　been　lavishing　caresses　on　her　feet　for　nearly　an　hour　past；　without　being　able　to　win　a　glance。　　The　gypsy　covered　him　with　kisses。

〃Oh！　　Djali！〃　she　said；　〃how　I　have　forgotten　thee！　　And　so　thou　still　thinkest　of　me！　　Oh！　thou　art　not　an　ingrate！〃

At　the　same　time；　as　though　an　invisible　hand　had　lifted　the　weight　which　had　repressed　her　tears　in　her　heart　for　so　long；　she　began　to　weep；　and；　in　proportion　as　her　tears　flowed；　she　felt　all　that　was　most　acrid　and　bitter　in　her　grief　depart　with　them。

Evening　came；　she　thought　the　night　so　beautiful　that　she　made　the　circuit　of　the　elevated　gallery　which　surrounds　the　church。　　It　afforded　her　some　relief；　so　calm　did　the　earth　appear　when　viewed　from　that　height。




CHAPTER　III。

DEAF。



On　the　following　morning；　she　perceived　on　awaking；　that　she　had　been　asleep。　　This　singular　thing　astonished　her。　She　had　been　so　long　unaccustomed　to　sleep！　　A　joyous　ray　of　the　rising　sun　entered　through　her　window　and　touched　her　face。　　At　the　same　time　with　the　sun；　she　beheld　at　that　window　an　object　which　frightened　her；　the　unfortunate　face　of　Quasimodo。　　She　involuntarily　closed　her　eyes　again；　but　in　vain；　she　fancied　that　she　still　saw　through　the　rosy　lids　that　gnome's　mask；　one…eyed　and　gap…toothed。　　Then；　while　she　still　kept　her　eyes　closed；　she　heard　a　rough　voice　saying；　very　gently；

〃Be　not　afraid。　　I　am　your　friend。　　I　came　to　watch　you　sleep。　　It　does　not　hurt　you　if　I　come　to　see　you　sleep；　does　it？　　What　difference　does　it　make　to　you　if　I　am　here　when　your　eyes　are　closed！　　Now　I　am　going。　　Stay；　I　have　placed　myself　behind　the　wall。　　You　can　open　your　eyes　again。〃

There　was　something　more　plaintive　than　these　words；　and　that　was　the　accent　in　which　they　were　uttered。　　The　gypsy；　much　touched；　opened　her　eyes。　　He　was；　in　fact；　no　longer　at　the　window。　　She　approached　the　opening；　and　beheld　the　poor　hunchback　crouching　in　an　angle　of　the　wall；　in　a　sad　and　resigned　attitude。　　She　made　an　effort　to　surmount　the　repugnance　with　which　he　inspired　her。　　〃Come；〃　she　said　to　him　gently。　　From　the　movement　of　the　gypsy's　lips；　Quasimodo　thought　that　she　was　driving　him　away；　then　he　rose　and　retired　limping；　slowly；　with　drooping　head；　without　even　daring　to　raise　to　the　young　girl　his　gaze　full　of　despair。　〃Do　come；〃　she　cried；　but　he　continued　to　retreat。　　Then　she　darted　from　her　cell；　ran　to　him；　and　grasped　his　arm。　On　feeling　her　touch　him；　Quasimodo　trembled　in　every　limb。　He　raised　his　suppliant　eye；　and　seeing　that　she　was　leading　him　back　to　her　quarters；　his　whole　face　beamed　with　joy　and　tenderness。　　She　tried　to　make　him　enter　the　cell；　but　he　persisted　in　remaining　on　the　threshold。　　〃No；　no；〃　said　he；　〃the　owl　enters　not　the　nest　of　the　lark。〃

Then　she　crouched　down　gracefully　on　her　couch；　with　her　goat　asleep　at　her　feet。　　Both　remained　motionless　for　several　moments；　considering　in　silence；　she　so　much　grace；　he　so　much　ugliness。　　Every　moment　she　discovered　some　fresh　deformity　in　Quasimodo。　　Her　glance　travelled　from　his　knock　knees　to　his　humped　back；　from　his　humped　back　to　his　only　eye。　　She　could　not　comprehend　the　existence　of　a　being　so　awkwardly　fashioned。　　Yet　there　was　so　much　sadness　and　so　much　gentleness　spread　over　all　this；　that　she　began　to　become　reconciled　to　it。

He　was　the　first　to　break　the　silence。　　〃So　you　were　telling　me　to　return？〃

She　made　an　affirmative　sign　of　the　head；　and　said；　〃Yes。〃

He　understood　the　motion　of　the　head。　　〃Alas！〃　he　said；　as　though　hesitating　whether　to　finish；　〃I　amI　am　deaf。〃

〃Poor　man！〃　exclaimed　the　Bohemian；　with　an　expression　of　kindly　pity。

He　began　to　smile　sadly。

〃You　think　that　that　was　all　that　I　lacked；　do　you　not？　Yes；　I　am　deaf；　that　is　the　way　I　am　made。　　'Tis　horrible；　is　it　not？　　You　are　so　beautiful！〃

There　lay　in　the　accents　of　the　wretched　man　so　profound　a　consciousness　of　his　misery；　that　she　had　not　the　strength　to　say　a　word。　　Besides；　he　would　not　have　heard　her。　　He　went　on；

〃Never　have　I　seen　my　ugliness　as　at　the　present　moment。　When　I　compare　myself　to　you；　I　feel　a　very　great　pity　for　myself；　poor　unhappy　mon