otre Dame.

Quasimodo grew up in Notre Dame. Cut off from the world by his
deformities, the church became his universe, and his gratitude was
boundless when he was made bell-ringer.

The bells had made him deaf, but he could understand by signs Claude
Frollo's wishes, and so the archdeacon became the only human being with
whom Quasimodo could hold any communication. Notre Dame and Claude
Frollo were the only two things in the world for Quasimodo, and to both
he was the most faithful watchman and servant. In the year 1482
Quasimodo was about twenty, and Claude Frollo thirty-six. The former had
grown up, the latter had grown old.

_II.--Esmeralda_

On that same January 6, 1482, a young girl was dancing in an open space
near a great bonfire in Paris. She was not tall but seemed to be, so
erect was her figure. She danced and twirled upon an old piece of
Persian carpet, and every eye in the crowd was riveted upon her. In her
grace and beauty this gypsy girl seemed more than mortal.

One man in the crowd stood more absorbed than the rest in watching the
dancer. It was Claude Frollo, the archdeacon: and though his hair was
grey and scanty, in his deep-set eyes the fire and spirit of youth still
sparkled.

When the young girl stopped at last, breathless, the people applauded
eagerly.

"Djali," said the gypsy, "it's your turn now." And a pretty little white
goat got up from a corner of the carpet.

"Djali, what month in the year is this?"

The goat raised his forefoot and struck once upon the tambourine held
out to him.

The crowd applauded.

"Djali, what day of the month is it?"

The goat struck the tambourine six times.

The people thought it was wonderful.

"There is sorcery in this!" said a forbidding voice in the crowd. It was
the voice of the priest Claude Frolic.

Then the gypsy began to take up a collection in her tambourine, and
presently the crowd dispersed.

Later in the day, when darkness had fallen, as the gypsy and her goat
were proceeding to their lodgings, Quasimodo seized hold of the girl and
ran off with her.

"Murder! Murder!" shrieked the unfortunate gypsy.

"Halt! Let the girl go, you ruffian!" exclaimed, in a voice of thunder,
a horseman who appeared suddenly from a cross street. It was a captain
of the King's Archers, armed from head to foot, and sword in hand.

He tore the gypsy girl from the arms of the astonished Quasimodo, and
placed her across his saddle. Before the hunch