In the midst of all this uproar，on a bench inside the fireplace，a philosopher sat and meditated，with his feet in the ashes and his eyes fixed on the blaze.It was Pierre Gringoire.
'Now，then，look alive，arm yourselves—we march in an hour！'said Clopin Trouillefou to his rascals.
A girl sang a snatch of song：
'Father and mother dear，good-night；
The last to go put out the light.'
Two card-players were disputing.'Knave！'cried the reddest-faced of the two，shaking his fist at the other，'I'll so mark thee thou mightest take the place of knave of clubs in our lord the King's own pack of cards！'
'Ouf！'roared one，whose nasal drawl betrayed him as a Norman；'we are packed together here like the saints of Caillouville！'
'Children，'said the Duke of Egypt to his audience in a falsetto voice，'the witches of France go to the Sabbaths without ointment，or broomsticks，or any other mount，by a few magic words only.The witches of Italy have always a goat in readiness at the door.All are bound to go up the chimney.'
The voice of the young scamp armed cap-á-pie dominated the hubbub.
'N ！N ！'he cried.'My first day in armour！A Vagabond！I'm a Vagabond，body of Christ！pour me some wine！My friends，my name is Jehan Frollo of the Mill，and I'm a gentleman.It's my opinion that if the Almighty were a man-at-arms he'd turn robber.Brothers，we are bound on a great expedition.We are doughty men.Lay siege to the church，break in the doors，bring out the maid，save her from the judges，save her from the priests，dismantle the cloister，burn the bishop in his house—we'll do all this in less time than it takes a burgomaster to eat a mouthful of soup.Our cause is a righteous one—we loot Notre-Dame，and there you are！We'll hang Quasimodo.Are you acquainted with Quasimodo，fair ladies？Have you seen him snorting on the back of the big bell on a day of high festival？Corne du Père！'tis a grand sight—you'd say it was a devil astride a gaping maw.Hark ye，my friends；I am a truand to the bottom of my heart，I am Argotier to the soul，I'm a born Cagou.I was very rich，but I've spent all I had.My mother wanted to make me an officer，my father a subdeacon，my aunt a criminal councillor，my grandmother a protonotary，but I made myself a Vagabond.I told my father so，and he spat his curse in my face；my mother，the good old lady，fell to weeping and spluttering like the log in that fire-place.So hey for a merry life！I'm a whole madhouse in myself.Landlady，my duck，some more wine—I've got some money left yet，but no more of that Suresnes，it rasps my throat.Why，cor f，it's like gargling with a basket！'
The crowd received his every utterance with yells of laughter，and seeing that the uproar was increasing round him，the scholar cried：'O glorious uproar！Populi debacchantis
populosa debacchatio！'and set off singing，his eyes swimming in apparent ecstasy，in the tone of a canon chanting vespers：'Q antica！q rgana！q antilen？！q elod is sine fine decantantur！sonant melliflua hymnorum or gana，suavissima angelorum melodia，cantica canticorum mira.'2
He broke off.'Hey there—devil's own landlady—give me some supper！'
There was a moment almost of silence，during which the strident voice of the Duke of Egypt was heard instructing his Bohemians：
'—The weasel goes by the name of Aduine，the fox is Bluefoot or Woodranger，the wolf，Grayfoot or Giltfoot，the bear，Old Man，or Grandfather.The cap of a gnome renders one invisible and makes one see invisible things.When a toad is baptized it should be clad in velvet—red or black—a bell at its neck，a bell on its foot.The godfather holds the head，the godmother the hinder parts.It is the demon Sidragasum that has the power of making girls dance naked.'
'By the mass！'broke in Jehan，'I would I were a demon Sidragasum.'
All this time the truands had been steadily arming themselves at the other side of the tavern，whispering to one another.
'Poor Esmeralda！'said a gipsy.'She is our sister.We must get her out of that！'
'Is she there still in Notre-Dame？'asked a Jewishlooking huckster.
'Yes，by God！'
'Well，comrades，'exclaimed the huckster，'to Notre-Dame，then！All the more because in the chapel of Saints Féréol and Ferrution there are two statues，one of Saint-John the Baptist and the other of Saint-Anthony，both of pure gold，weighing together seven gold marks and fifteen esterlins，3 and the pedestals of silver-gilt weigh seventeen marks five ounces.I know it—I am a goldsmith.'
Here they served Jehan's supper.He lolled on the bosom of the girl beside him.'By Saint-Voult-de-Lucques，called familiarly Saint-Goguelu，now I'm perfectly happy！'he cried.'Here in front of me I see a blockhead with the beardless face of an archduke.On my left is another with teeth so long they hide his chin.Body of Mahomet！Comrade！thou hast all the appearance of a draper，and hast the effrontery to come and sit by me！I am noble，my friend，and trade is incompatible with nobility.Get thee farther off.Holá，you there！no fighting！How now！Baptiste Croque-Oison，wouldst risk that splendid nose of thine under the gross fists of yonder bumpkin！Imbecile！Non cuiquam datum est habere nasum.4 Truly thou art divine，Jacqueline Rouge-Oreille！pity'tis thou hast no hair.Holá！My name's Jehan Frollo，and my brother's an archdeacon—may the devil fly away with him！Every word I tell you is the truth.By turning Vagabond，I have cheerfully renounced the half of a house situate in paradise promised me by my brother—dimidem donum in paradiso—I quote the very words.I've a property in the Rue Tirechappe，and all the women run after me—as true as it's true that Saint-Eligius was an excellent goldsmith，and that the five trades of the good city of Paris are the tanners，the leather-dressers，the baldrick-makers，the purse-makers，and the leather-scourers，and that Saint-Laurence was burned with hot egg-shells.I swear to you，comrades，
‘For a full year I'll taste no wine If this be any lie of mine！'
