platform.

She approached, without uttering a syllable, the victim who writhed in
a vain effort to escape her, and detaching a gourd from her girdle, she
raised it gently to the parched lips of the miserable man.

Then, from that eye which had been, up to that moment, so dry and
burning, a big tear was seen to fall, and roll slowly down that deformed
visage so long contracted with despair. It was the first, in all
probability, that the unfortunate man had ever shed.

Meanwhile, he had forgotten to drink. The gypsy made her little pout,
from impatience, and pressed the spout to the tusked month of Quasimodo,
with a smile.

He drank with deep draughts. His thirst was burning.

When he had finished, the wretch protruded his black lips, no doubt,
with the object of kissing the beautiful hand which had just succoured
him. But the young girl, who was, perhaps, somewhat distrustful, and who
remembered the violent attempt of the night, withdrew her hand with the
frightened gesture of a child who is afraid of being bitten by a beast.

Then the poor deaf man fixed on her a look full of reproach and
inexpressible sadness.

It would have been a touching spectacle anywhere,--this beautiful,
fresh, pure, and charming girl, who was at the same time so weak, thus
hastening to the relief of so much misery, deformity, and malevolence.
On the pillory, the spectacle was sublime.

The very populace were captivated by it, and began to clap their hands,
crying,--

"Noel! Noel!"

It was at that moment that the recluse caught sight, from the window of
her bole, of the gypsy on the pillory, and hurled at her her sinister
imprecation,--

"Accursed be thou, daughter of Egypt! Accursed! accursed!"

CHAPTER V. END OF THE STORY OF THE CAKE.

La Esmeralda turned pale and descended from the pillory, staggering as
she went. The voice of the recluse still pursued her,--

"Descend! descend! Thief of Egypt! thou shalt ascend it once more!"

"The sacked nun is in one of her tantrums," muttered the populace;
and that was the end of it. For that sort of woman was feared; which
rendered them sacred. People did not then willingly attack one who
prayed day and night.

The hour had arrived for removing Quasimodo. He was unbound, the crowd
dispersed.

Near the Grand Pont, Mahiette, who was returning with her two
companions, suddenly halted,--

"By the way, Eustache! what did you do with that cake?"

"Mother," said the child, "whi