of the pavement, the Place du
Parvis; in all that throng at but one figure,--the gypsy.

It would have been difficult to say what was the nature of this look,
and whence proceeded the flame that flashed from it. It was a fixed
gaze, which was, nevertheless, full of trouble and tumult. And, from the
profound immobility of his whole body, barely agitated at intervals
by an involuntary shiver, as a tree is moved by the wind; from the
stiffness of his elbows, more marble than the balustrade on which
they leaned; or the sight of the petrified smile which contracted his
face,--one would have said that nothing living was left about Claude
Frollo except his eyes.

The gypsy was dancing; she was twirling her tambourine on the tip of her
finger, and tossing it into the air as she danced Provencal sarabands;
agile, light, joyous, and unconscious of the formidable gaze which
descended perpendicularly upon her head.

The crowd was swarming around her; from time to time, a man accoutred in
red and yellow made them form into a circle, and then returned, seated
himself on a chair a few paces from the dancer, and took the goat's head
on his knees. This man seemed to be the gypsy's companion. Claude Frollo
could not distinguish his features from his elevated post.

From the moment when the archdeacon caught sight of this stranger, his
attention seemed divided between him and the dancer, and his face became
more and more gloomy. All at once he rose upright, and a quiver ran
through his whole body: "Who is that man?" he muttered between his
teeth: "I have always seen her alone before!"

Then he plunged down beneath the tortuous vault of the spiral staircase,
and once more descended. As he passed the door of the bell chamber,
which was ajar, he saw something which struck him; he beheld Quasimodo,
who, leaning through an opening of one of those slate penthouses which
resemble enormous blinds, appeared also to be gazing at the Place. He
was engaged in so profound a contemplation, that he did not notice the
passage of his adopted father. His savage eye had a singular expression;
it was a charmed, tender look. "This is strange!" murmured Claude. "Is
it the gypsy at whom he is thus gazing?" He continued his descent. At
the end of a few minutes, the anxious archdeacon entered upon the Place
from the door at the base of the tower.

"What has become of the gypsy girl?" he said, mingling with the group of
spectators which the sound of the tam