rette, trills and arpeggios, had taken
possession of the poor deaf man, he became happy once more, he forgot
everything, and his heart expanding, made his face beam.

He went and came, he beat his hands together, he ran from rope to rope,
he animated the six singers with voice and gesture, like the leader of
an orchestra who is urging on intelligent musicians.

"Go on," said he, "go on, go on, Gabrielle, pour out all thy noise
into the Place, 'tis a festival to-day. No laziness, Thibauld; thou art
relaxing; go on, go on, then, art thou rusted, thou sluggard? That is
well! quick! quick! let not thy clapper be seen! Make them all deaf like
me. That's it, Thibauld, bravely done! Guillaume! Guillaume! thou art
the largest, and Pasquier is the smallest, and Pasquier does best. Let
us wager that those who hear him will understand him better than they
understand thee. Good! good! my Gabrielle, stoutly, more stoutly! Eli!
what are you doing up aloft there, you two Moineaux (sparrows)? I do not
see you making the least little shred of noise. What is the meaning of
those beaks of copper which seem to be gaping when they should sing?
Come, work now, 'tis the Feast of the Annunciation. The sun is fine, the
chime must be fine also. Poor Guillaume! thou art all out of breath, my
big fellow!"

He was wholly absorbed in spurring on his bells, all six of which vied
with each other in leaping and shaking their shining haunches, like
a noisy team of Spanish mules, pricked on here and there by the
apostrophes of the muleteer.

All at once, on letting his glance fall between the large slate scales
which cover the perpendicular wall of the bell tower at a certain
height, he beheld on the square a young girl, fantastically dressed,
stop, spread out on the ground a carpet, on which a small goat took
up its post, and a group of spectators collect around her. This sight
suddenly changed the course of his ideas, and congealed his enthusiasm
as a breath of air congeals melted rosin. He halted, turned his back to
the bells, and crouched down behind the projecting roof of slate, fixing
upon the dancer that dreamy, sweet, and tender look which had already
astonished the archdeacon on one occasion. Meanwhile, the forgotten
bells died away abruptly and all together, to the great disappointment
of the lovers of bell ringing, who were listening in good faith to the
peal from above the Pont du Change, and who went away dumbfounded, like
a dog who has