the window how the
wind is tearing the clouds to tatters! Even thus will I do to
your gorget.--Wenches, wipe the children's noses and snuff the
candles.--Christ and Mahom! What am I eating here, Jupiter? Ohe!
innkeeper! the hair which is not on the heads of your hussies one finds
in your omelettes. Old woman! I like bald omelettes. May the devil
confound you!--A fine hostelry of Beelzebub, where the hussies comb
their heads with the forks!

"Et je n'ai moi,
Par la sang-Dieu!
Ni foi, ni loi,
Ni feu, ni lieu,
Ni roi,
Ni Dieu."*

* And by the blood of God, I have neither faith nor law, nor
fire nor dwelling-place, nor king nor God.

In the meantime, Clopin Trouillefou had finished the distribution of
arms. He approached Gringoire, who appeared to be plunged in a profound
revery, with his feet on an andiron.

"Friend Pierre," said the King of Thunes, "what the devil are you
thinking about?"

Gringoire turned to him with a melancholy smile.

"I love the fire, my dear lord. Not for the trivial reason that fire
warms the feet or cooks our soup, but because it has sparks. Sometimes I
pass whole hours in watching the sparks. I discover a thousand things in
those stars which are sprinkled over the black background of the hearth.
Those stars are also worlds."

"Thunder, if I understand you!" said the outcast. "Do you know what
o'clock it is?"

"I do not know," replied Gringoire.

Clopin approached the Duke of Egypt.

"Comrade Mathias, the time we have chosen is not a good one. King Louis
XI. is said to be in Paris."

"Another reason for snatching our sister from his claws," replied the
old Bohemian.

"You speak like a man, Mathias," said the King of Thunes. "Moreover,
we will act promptly. No resistance is to be feared in the church. The
canons are hares, and we are in force. The people of the parliament will
be well balked to-morrow when they come to seek her! Guts of the pope I
don't want them to hang the pretty girl!"

Chopin quitted the dram-shop.

Meanwhile, Jehan was shouting in a hoarse voice:

"I eat, I drink, I am drunk, I am Jupiter! Eh! Pierre, the Slaughterer,
if you look at me like that again, I'll fillip the dust off your nose
for you."

Gringoire, torn from his meditations, began to watch the wild and noisy
scene which surrounded him, muttering between his teeth: "_Luxuriosa
res vinum et tumultuosa ebrietas_. Alas! wha