xamine the long, gauze wings, the long
enamel robe, the two globes of crystal, what astonishment you felt, and
what fear lest you should again behold the form disappear into a shade,
and the creature into a chimera! Recall these impressions, and you will
readily appreciate what Gringoire felt on contemplating, beneath her
visible and palpable form, that Esmeralda of whom, up to that time,
he had only caught a glimpse, amidst a whirlwind of dance, song, and
tumult.

Sinking deeper and deeper into his revery: "So this," he said to
himself, following her vaguely with his eyes, "is la Esmeralda! a
celestial creature! a street dancer! so much, and so little! 'Twas she
who dealt the death-blow to my mystery this morning, 'tis she who saves
my life this evening! My evil genius! My good angel! A pretty woman,
on my word! and who must needs love me madly to have taken me in that
fashion. By the way," said he, rising suddenly, with that sentiment
of the true which formed the foundation of his character and his
philosophy, "I don't know very well how it happens, but I am her
husband!"

With this idea in his head and in his eyes, he stepped up to the young
girl in a manner so military and so gallant that she drew back.

"What do you want of me?" said she.

"Can you ask me, adorable Esmeralda?" replied Gringoire, with so
passionate an accent that he was himself astonished at it on hearing
himself speak.

The gypsy opened her great eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

"What!" resumed Gringoire, growing warmer and warmer, and supposing
that, after all, he had to deal merely with a virtue of the Cour des
Miracles; "am I not thine, sweet friend, art thou not mine?"

And, quite ingenuously, he clasped her waist.

The gypsy's corsage slipped through his hands like the skin of an eel.
She bounded from one end of the tiny room to the other, stooped down,
and raised herself again, with a little poniard in her hand, before
Gringoire had even had time to see whence the poniard came; proud and
angry, with swelling lips and inflated nostrils, her cheeks as red as an
api apple,* and her eyes darting lightnings. At the same time, the white
goat placed itself in front of her, and presented to Gringoire a hostile
front, bristling with two pretty horns, gilded and very sharp. All this
took place in the twinkling of an eye.

* A small dessert apple, bright red on one side and
greenish-white on the other.

The dragon-fly had