transit from the Palais de Justice, to the Place de Greve. It
was the first enjoyment of self-love that he had ever experienced. Down
to that day, he had known only humiliation, disdain for his condition,
disgust for his person. Hence, deaf though he was, he enjoyed, like a
veritable pope, the acclamations of that throng, which he hated because
he felt that he was hated by it. What mattered it that his people
consisted of a pack of fools, cripples, thieves, and beggars? it was
still a people and he was its sovereign. And he accepted seriously all
this ironical applause, all this derisive respect, with which the crowd
mingled, it must be admitted, a good deal of very real fear. For the
hunchback was robust; for the bandy-legged fellow was agile; for the
deaf man was malicious: three qualities which temper ridicule.

We are far from believing, however, that the new Pope of the Fools
understood both the sentiments which he felt and the sentiments which
he inspired. The spirit which was lodged in this failure of a body had,
necessarily, something incomplete and deaf about it. Thus, what he felt
at the moment was to him, absolutely vague, indistinct, and confused.
Only joy made itself felt, only pride dominated. Around that sombre and
unhappy face, there hung a radiance.

It was, then, not without surprise and alarm, that at the very moment
when Quasimodo was passing the Pillar House, in that semi-intoxicated
state, a man was seen to dart from the crowd, and to tear from his
hands, with a gesture of anger, his crosier of gilded wood, the emblem
of his mock popeship.

This man, this rash individual, was the man with the bald brow, who,
a moment earlier, standing with the gypsy's group had chilled the
poor girl with his words of menace and of hatred. He was dressed in
an ecclesiastical costume. At the moment when he stood forth from the
crowd, Gringoire, who had not noticed him up to that time, recognized
him: "Hold!" he said, with an exclamation of astonishment. "Eh! 'tis my
master in Hermes, Dom Claude Frollo, the archdeacon! What the devil does
he want of that old one-eyed fellow? He'll get himself devoured!"

A cry of terror arose, in fact. The formidable Quasimodo had hurled
himself from the litter, and the women turned aside their eyes in order
not to see him tear the archdeacon asunder.

He made one bound as far as the priest, looked at him, and fell upon his
knees.

The priest tore off his tiara, broke his crozie