ment,
malice, and melancholy--who had seen such a grimace?

It was only when the crowd had carried away the Lord of Misrule in
triumph that they understood that the grimace was the hunchback's
natural face. In fact, the entire man was a grimace. Humpbacked, an
enormous head, with bristles of red hair; broad feet, huge hands,
crooked legs; and, with all this deformity, a wonderful vigour, agility,
and courage. Such was the newly chosen Lord of Misrule--a giant broken
to pieces and badly mended.

He was recognised by the crowd in the streets, and shouts went up.

"It is Quasimodo, the bell-ringer! Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre
Dame!"

A pasteboard tiara and imitation robes were placed on him, and Quasimodo
submitted with a sort of proud docility. Then he was seated upon a
painted barrow, and twelve men raised it to their shoulders; and the
procession, which included all the vagrants and rascals of Paris, set
out to parade the city.

There was a certain rapture in this journey for Quasimodo. For the first
time in his life he felt a thrill of vanity. Hitherto humiliation and
contempt had been his portion; and now, though he was deaf, he could
enjoy the plaudits of the mob--mob which he hated because he felt that
it hated him.

Suddenly, as Quasimodo passed triumphantly along the streets, the
spectators saw a man, dressed like a priest, dart out and snatch away
the gilded crosier from the mock pope.

A cry of terror rose. The terrible Quasimodo threw himself from his
barrow, and everyone expected to see him tear the priest limb from limb.
Instead, he fell on his knees before the priest, and submitted to have
his tiara torn from him and his crosier broken.

The fraternity of fools determined to defend their pope so abruptly
dethroned; but Quasimodo placed himself in front of the priest, put his
fists up, and glared at his assailants, so that the crowd melted before
him.

Then, at the grave beckoning of the priest, Quasimodo followed, and the
two disappeared down a narrow side street.

The one human being whom Quasimodo loved was this priest, Claude Frollo,
Archbishop of Paris. And this was quite natural. For it was Claude
Frollo who had found the hunchback--a deserted, forsaken child left in a
sack at the entrance to Notre Dame, and, in spite of his deformities,
had taken him, fed him, adopted him, and brought him up. Claude Frollo
taught him to speak, to read, and to write, and had made him bell-ringer
at N