hat it was a man. Such a fright as I had!"

"I'm sure that he goes to the witches' sabbath. Once he left a broom on
my leads."

"Oh! what a displeasing hunchback's face!"

"Oh! what an ill-favored soul!"

"Whew!"

The men, on the contrary, were delighted and applauded. Quasimodo, the
object of the tumult, still stood on the threshold of the chapel, sombre
and grave, and allowed them to admire him.

One scholar (Robin Poussepain, I think), came and laughed in his face,
and too close. Quasimodo contented himself with taking him by the
girdle, and hurling him ten paces off amid the crowd; all without
uttering a word.

Master Coppenole, in amazement, approached him.

"Cross of God! Holy Father! you possess the handsomest ugliness that I
have ever beheld in my life. You would deserve to be pope at Rome, as
well as at Paris."

So saying, he placed his hand gayly on his shoulder. Quasimodo did not
stir. Coppenole went on,--

"You are a rogue with whom I have a fancy for carousing, were it to cost
me a new dozen of twelve livres of Tours. How does it strike you?"

Quasimodo made no reply.

"Cross of God!" said the hosier, "are you deaf?"

He was, in truth, deaf.

Nevertheless, he began to grow impatient with Coppenole's behavior, and
suddenly turned towards him with so formidable a gnashing of teeth, that
the Flemish giant recoiled, like a bull-dog before a cat.

Then there was created around that strange personage, a circle of terror
and respect, whose radius was at least fifteen geometrical feet. An old
woman explained to Coppenole that Quasimodo was deaf.

"Deaf!" said the hosier, with his great Flemish laugh. "Cross of God!
He's a perfect pope!"

"He! I recognize him," exclaimed Jehan, who had, at last, descended from
his capital, in order to see Quasimodo at closer quarters, "he's the
bellringer of my brother, the archdeacon. Good-day, Quasimodo!"

"What a devil of a man!" said Robin Poussepain still all bruised
with his fall. "He shows himself; he's a hunchback. He walks; he's
bandy-legged. He looks at you; he's one-eyed. You speak to him; he's
deaf. And what does this Polyphemus do with his tongue?"

"He speaks when he chooses," said the old woman; "he became deaf through
ringing the bells. He is not dumb."

"That he lacks," remarks Jehan.

"And he has one eye too many," added Robin Poussepain.

"Not at all," said Jehan wisely. "A one-eyed man is far less complete
than a blind man. He knows w