a man to whom has been given all the feelings,
all the aspirations, all the fire of the poet, and from whom is withheld
the gift of language. But I am content. All the thoughts of the great
masters are mine, my very own, and I am grateful for the power. It is a
gift. As a rule I need no music. All is stamped on my brain in undying
characters. You shall hear. This is a book of Bach's Fugues that I
scarcely need; and this quiet and devoted creature is my organ-blower.
He is deaf and dumb, which explains his silence."

"But you have not told us your reason for turning night into day," we
remarked. "Everything about you is so weird and unusual that we cannot
help our curiosity. You must not think it impertinence."

"True," replied Quasimodo. "It must indeed seem strange to you that I
come here now, yet the reason is simple enough. I teach all day long,
for I have to work for my living. Yet I cannot live without occasionally
pouring out my soul in music; and as I have no time but the night, I
come here now rather than not at all. I was not here last night or the
night before; I shall not be here again any night this week. I have to
work not only for my own living, but for a wife and two lovely children.
You start. You wonder that any woman could have married this grotesque
creature--much more a beautiful woman. You do not wonder more than I do.
I tell my wife that she married me for my music, not for myself. The
music charmed and bewitched her; threw a glamour over her eyes and
judgment and taste. She laughs in reply. We have been married twelve
years now, and she still seems the happiest of women, most devoted of
wives. Heaven be praised, there is nothing grotesque in our lovely
children. They might have come from paradise. But now I will go and
play, and you shall listen. You have chosen to enter here, and here you
must remain until I let you out again. I will leave you my lantern and
you may wander where you will."

With that he placed his lamp in our hand, and lighting a small wax
candle which he produced from his pocket, departed down the long, dark,
solemn, solitary aisle, followed by his silent Shadow. We soon lost
them in the gloom, and nothing but the distant sound of Quasimodo's
footsteps told us we were not alone. Even this sound ceased, and for a
time absolute silence reigned.

Presently a far-off glimmer showed where the organ-loft was placed.
Quasimodo had lighted the candles and taken his seat. We turned o