?"

"No. What is it, Mademoiselle Turquant?"

"The horse of M. Gilles Godin, the notary at the Chatelet, took fright
at the Flemings and their procession, and overturned Master Philippe
Avrillot, lay monk of the Celestins."

"Really?"

"Actually."

"A bourgeois horse! 'tis rather too much! If it had been a cavalry
horse, well and good!"

And the windows were closed. But Gringoire had lost the thread of his
ideas, nevertheless.

Fortunately, he speedily found it again, and he knotted it together
without difficulty, thanks to the gypsy, thanks to Djali, who still
walked in front of him; two fine, delicate, and charming creatures,
whose tiny feet, beautiful forms, and graceful manners he was engaged in
admiring, almost confusing them in his contemplation; believing them
to be both young girls, from their intelligence and good friendship;
regarding them both as goats,--so far as the lightness, agility, and
dexterity of their walk were concerned.

But the streets were becoming blacker and more deserted every moment.
The curfew had sounded long ago, and it was only at rare intervals
now that they encountered a passer-by in the street, or a light in the
windows. Gringoire had become involved, in his pursuit of the gypsy, in
that inextricable labyrinth of alleys, squares, and closed courts
which surround the ancient sepulchre of the Saints-Innocents, and which
resembles a ball of thread tangled by a cat. "Here are streets which
possess but little logic!" said Gringoire, lost in the thousands of
circuits which returned upon themselves incessantly, but where the young
girl pursued a road which seemed familiar to her, without hesitation and
with a step which became ever more rapid. As for him, he would have been
utterly ignorant of his situation had he not espied, in passing, at the
turn of a street, the octagonal mass of the pillory of the fish markets,
the open-work summit of which threw its black, fretted outlines clearly
upon a window which was still lighted in the Rue Verdelet.

The young girl's attention had been attracted to him for the last few
moments; she had repeatedly turned her head towards him with uneasiness;
she had even once come to a standstill, and taking advantage of a ray of
light which escaped from a half-open bakery to survey him intently, from
head to foot, then, having cast this glance, Gringoire had seen her make
that little pout which he had already noticed, after which she passed
on.

This