h. It afforded
her some relief, so calm did the earth appear when viewed from that
height.

CHAPTER III. DEAF.

On the following morning, she perceived on awaking, that she had
been asleep. This singular thing astonished her. She had been so long
unaccustomed to sleep! A joyous ray of the rising sun entered through
her window and touched her face. At the same time with the sun, she
beheld at that window an object which frightened her, the unfortunate
face of Quasimodo. She involuntarily closed her eyes again, but in vain;
she fancied that she still saw through the rosy lids that gnome's mask,
one-eyed and gap-toothed. Then, while she still kept her eyes closed,
she heard a rough voice saying, very gently,--

"Be not afraid. I am your friend. I came to watch you sleep. It does not
hurt you if I come to see you sleep, does it? What difference does it
make to you if I am here when your eyes are closed! Now I am going.
Stay, I have placed myself behind the wall. You can open your eyes
again."

There was something more plaintive than these words, and that was the
accent in which they were uttered. The gypsy, much touched, opened
her eyes. He was, in fact, no longer at the window. She approached the
opening, and beheld the poor hunchback crouching in an angle of the
wall, in a sad and resigned attitude. She made an effort to surmount the
repugnance with which he inspired her. "Come," she said to him gently.
From the movement of the gypsy's lips, Quasimodo thought that she
was driving him away; then he rose and retired limping, slowly, with
drooping head, without even daring to raise to the young girl his gaze
full of despair. "Do come," she cried, but he continued to retreat. Then
she darted from her cell, ran to him, and grasped his arm. On feeling
her touch him, Quasimodo trembled in every limb. He raised his suppliant
eye, and seeing that she was leading him back to her quarters, his whole
face beamed with joy and tenderness. She tried to make him enter the
cell; but he persisted in remaining on the threshold. "No, no," said he;
"the owl enters not the nest of the lark."

Then she crouched down gracefully on her couch, with her goat asleep at
her feet. Both remained motionless for several moments, considering
in silence, she so much grace, he so much ugliness. Every moment she
discovered some fresh deformity in Quasimodo. Her glance travelled from
his knock knees to his humped back, from his humped back to