change.

After a dispute, Venus, Marguerite, and the assistants agreed to submit
to the good judgment of time holy Virgin. There was another good part,
that of the king of Mesopotamia; but through so many interruptions,
it was difficult to make out what end he served. All these persons had
ascended by the ladder to the stage.

But all was over; none of these beauties had been felt nor understood.
On the entrance of the cardinal, one would have said that an invisible
magic thread had suddenly drawn all glances from the marble table to the
gallery, from the southern to the western extremity of the hall. Nothing
could disenchant the audience; all eyes remained fixed there, and
the new-comers and their accursed names, and their faces, and their
costumes, afforded a continual diversion. This was very distressing.
With the exception of Gisquette and Lienarde, who turned round from time
to time when Gringoire plucked them by the sleeve; with the exception of
the big, patient neighbor, no one listened, no one looked at the poor,
deserted morality full face. Gringoire saw only profiles.

With what bitterness did he behold his whole erection of glory and of
poetry crumble away bit by bit! And to think that these people had
been upon the point of instituting a revolt against the bailiff through
impatience to hear his work! now that they had it they did not care for
it. This same representation which had been begun amid so unanimous an
acclamation! Eternal flood and ebb of popular favor! To think that they
had been on the point of hanging the bailiff's sergeant! What would he
not have given to be still at that hour of honey!

But the usher's brutal monologue came to an end; every one had arrived,
and Gringoire breathed freely once more; the actors continued bravely.
But Master Coppenole, the hosier, must needs rise of a sudden, and
Gringoire was forced to listen to him deliver, amid universal attention,
the following abominable harangue.

"Messieurs the bourgeois and squires of Paris, I don't know, cross of
God! what we are doing here. I certainly do see yonder in the corner on
that stage, some people who appear to be fighting. I don't know whether
that is what you call a "mystery," but it is not amusing; they quarrel
with their tongues and nothing more. I have been waiting for the first
blow this quarter of an hour; nothing comes; they are cowards who only
scratch each other with insults. You ought to send for the fighters of