ained outside of Torterue's horrible apparatus. Lastly,
he pictured the young girl in her shift, with the rope about her neck,
shoulders bare, feet bare, almost nude, as he had seen her on that last
day. These images of voluptuousness made him clench his fists, and a
shiver run along his spine.

One night, among others, they heated so cruelly his virgin and priestly
blood, that he bit his pillow, leaped from his bed, flung on a surplice
over his shirt, and left his cell, lamp in hand, half naked, wild, his
eyes aflame.

He knew where to find the key to the red door, which connected the
cloister with the church, and he always had about him, as the reader
knows, the key of the staircase leading to the towers.

CHAPTER VI. CONTINUATION OF THE KEY TO THE RED DOOR.

That night, la Esmeralda had fallen asleep in her cell, full of
oblivion, of hope, and of sweet thoughts. She had already been asleep
for some time, dreaming as always, of Phoebus, when it seemed to her
that she heard a noise near her. She slept lightly and uneasily, the
sleep of a bird; a mere nothing waked her. She opened her eyes. The
night was very dark. Nevertheless, she saw a figure gazing at her
through the window; a lamp lighted up this apparition. The moment that
the figure saw that la Esmeralda had perceived it, it blew out the
lamp. But the young girl had had time to catch a glimpse of it; her eyes
closed again with terror.

"Oh!" she said in a faint voice, "the priest!"

All her past unhappiness came back to her like a flash of lightning. She
fell back on her bed, chilled.

A moment later she felt a touch along her body which made her shudder
so that she straightened herself up in a sitting posture, wide awake and
furious.

The priest had just slipped in beside her. He encircled her with both
arms.

She tried to scream and could not.

"Begone, monster! begone assassin!" she said, in a voice which was low
and trembling with wrath and terror.

"Mercy! mercy!" murmured the priest, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

She seized his bald head by its remnant of hair and tried to thrust
aside his kisses as though they had been bites.

"Mercy!" repeated the unfortunate man. "If you but knew what my love for
you is! 'Tis fire, melted lead, a thousand daggers in my heart."

She stopped his two arms with superhuman force.

"Let me go," she said, "or I will spit in your face!"

He released her. "Vilify me, strike me, be malicious! Do