ng," she stammered. "But why does not your friend speak?"

"Ah!" said Gringoire, "'tis because his father and mother were fantastic
people who made him of a taciturn temperament."

She was obliged to content herself with this explanation. Gringoire took
her by the hand; his companion picked up the lantern and walked on in
front. Fear stunned the young girl. She allowed herself to be led away.
The goat followed them, frisking, so joyous at seeing Gringoire again
that it made him stumble every moment by thrusting its horns between his
legs.

"Such is life," said the philosopher, every time that he came
near falling down; "'tis often our best friends who cause us to be
overthrown."

They rapidly descended the staircase of the towers, crossed the church,
full of shadows and solitude, and all reverberating with uproar, which
formed a frightful contrast, and emerged into the courtyard of the
cloister by the red door. The cloister was deserted; the canons had
fled to the bishop's palace in order to pray together; the courtyard
was empty, a few frightened lackeys were crouching in dark corners. They
directed their steps towards the door which opened from this court upon
the Terrain. The man in black opened it with a key which he had about
him. Our readers are aware that the Terrain was a tongue of land
enclosed by walls on the side of the City and belonging to the chapter
of Notre-Dame, which terminated the island on the east, behind the
church. They found this enclosure perfectly deserted. There was here
less tumult in the air. The roar of the outcasts' assault reached them
more confusedly and less clamorously. The fresh breeze which follows the
current of a stream, rustled the leaves of the only tree planted on the
point of the Terrain, with a noise that was already perceptible. But
they were still very close to danger. The nearest edifices to them were
the bishop's palace and the church. It was plainly evident that there
was great internal commotion in the bishop's palace. Its shadowy mass
was all furrowed with lights which flitted from window to window; as,
when one has just burned paper, there remains a sombre edifice of ashes
in which bright sparks run a thousand eccentric courses. Beside them,
the enormous towers of Notre-Dame, thus viewed from behind, with the
long nave above which they rise cut out in black against the red and
vast light which filled the Parvis, resembled two gigantic andirons of
some cyclopean fir