in Tarascon and other French towns.

Without doubt, this strange beacon light would awaken far away, the
woodcutter of the hills of Bicetre, terrified to behold the gigantic
shadow of the towers of Notre-Dame quivering over his heaths.

A terrified silence ensued among the outcasts, during which nothing was
heard, but the cries of alarm of the canons shut up in their cloister,
and more uneasy than horses in a burning stable, the furtive sound
of windows hastily opened and still more hastily closed, the internal
hurly-burly of the houses and of the Hotel-Dieu, the wind in the flame,
the last death-rattle of the dying, and the continued crackling of the
rain of lead upon the pavement.

In the meanwhile, the principal vagabonds had retired beneath the porch
of the Gondelaurier mansion, and were holding a council of war.

The Duke of Egypt, seated on a stone post, contemplated the
phantasmagorical bonfire, glowing at a height of two hundred feet in the
air, with religious terror. Clopin Trouillefou bit his huge fists with
rage.

"Impossible to get in!" he muttered between his teeth.

"An old, enchanted church!" grumbled the aged Bohemian, Mathias Hungadi
Spicali.

"By the Pope's whiskers!" went on a sham soldier, who had once been in
service, "here are church gutters spitting melted lead at you better
than the machicolations of Lectoure."

"Do you see that demon passing and repassing in front of the fire?"
exclaimed the Duke of Egypt.

"Pardieu, 'tis that damned bellringer, 'tis Quasimodo," said Clopin.

The Bohemian tossed his head. "I tell you, that 'tis the spirit Sabnac,
the grand marquis, the demon of fortifications. He has the form of an
armed soldier, the head of a lion. Sometimes he rides a hideous horse.
He changes men into stones, of which he builds towers. He commands
fifty legions 'Tis he indeed; I recognize him. Sometimes he is clad in a
handsome golden robe, figured after the Turkish fashion."

"Where is Bellevigne de l'Etoile?" demanded Clopin.

"He is dead."

Andry the Red laughed in an idiotic way: "Notre-Dame is making work for
the hospital," said he.

"Is there, then, no way of forcing this door," exclaimed the King of
Thunes, stamping his foot.

The Duke of Egypt pointed sadly to the two streams of boiling lead which
did not cease to streak the black facade, like two long distaffs of
phosphorus.

"Churches have been known to defend themselves thus all by themselves,"
he remarked wi