"Now," continued Clopin Trouille fou, "when I clap my hands, do you, Andry le Rouge, knock away the footstool from under him; you, François ChantePrune, hang on to the knave's feet; and you, Bellevigne, jump down upon his shoulders; and all three at once, do you hear?"

Gringoire shuddered.

"Are you ready?" said Clopin Trouille fou to the three Canters prepared to fall upon Gringoire. The poor sufferer endured a moment of horrible suspense, while Clopin calmly pushed into the fire with his foot a few vine-branches which the flame had not

yet kindled. "Are you ready?" he repeated; and he opened his hands to clap. A second more, and all would have been over.

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But he paused, as if struck with a sudden thought. One moment," said he; "I forgot! It is our custom never to hang a man without asking if there be any woman who'll have him. Comrade, it's your last chance. You must marry a tramp or the rope."

This gypsy law, strange as it may seem to the reader, is still written out in full in the ancient English code. (See "Burington's Observations.")

Gringoire breathed again. This was the second time that he had been restored to life within the half-hour; so he dared not feel too confident.

"Hello!" cried Clopin, remounting his cask; "hello there, women, females! is there among you, from the old witch to her cat, a wench who'll take this scurvy knave? Hello Colette la Charonne! Élisabeth Trouvain! Simon Jodouyne! Marie Piédebou! Thonne la Longue! Bérard Fanouel! Michelle Genaille! Claude Ronge-Oreille! Mathurine Girorou! Hello! Isabeau la Thierrye! Come and look! a man for nothing! who'll take him?”

Gringoire, in his wretched plight, was doubtless far from tempting. The vagabond women seemed but little moved by the offer. The luckless fellow

heard them answer: "No! no! hang him; that will make sport for us all."

Three, however, stepped from the crowd to look him over. The first was a stout, square-faced girl. She examined the philosopher's pitiable doublet most attentively. The stuff was worn, and more full of holes than a furnace for roasting chestnuts. The girl made a wry face. "An old clout!" she grumbled, and addressing Gringoire, "Let's look at your cloak?"

"The soles are almost worn through." "Your purse?

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"Alas!" faltered Gringoire, "I have not a penny."

Be hanged to you, then, and be thankful!" replied the tramp, turning her back on him.

The second, old, weather-beaten, wrinkled, and ugly, hideous enough to be conspicuous even in the Court of Miracles, walked round and round Gringoire. He almost trembled lest she should accept him. But she muttered, "He's too thin," and took her leave.

The third was a young girl, quite rosy and not very ugly. Save me!" whispered the poor devil.

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She looked at him a moment with a compassionate air, then looked down, began to plait up her skirt, and seemed uncertain. He watched her every motion; this was his last ray of hope. No," said the young woman at last; "no! Guillaume Longuejoue would lick me," and she went back to the crowd. · Comrade,” said Clopin Trouillefou, “you're down on your luck."

Then, standing erect upon his cask, he cried, “Will no one take this lot?" mimicking the tone of an

auctioneer, to the great entertainment of all; "will no one take it? Going, going, going!" and turning to the gallows with a nod, "Gone!"

Bellevigne de l'Étoile, Andry le Rouge, and François Chant-Prune approached Gringoire.

At this instant a shout rose from the thieves: "Esmeralda! Esmeralda!"

Gringoire trembled, and turned in the direction of the cry. The crowd opened and made way for a pure and radiant figure.

It was the gypsy girl.

"Esmeralda!" said Gringoire, astounded, amidst his contending emotions, at the suddenness with which that magic word connected all the various recollections of his day.

This rare creature seemed to exercise sovereign sway through her beauty and her charm even in the Court of Miracles. Thieves, beggars and harlots stood meekly aside to let her pass, and their brutal faces brightened at her glance.

She approached the victim with her light step. Her pretty Djoli followed her. Gringoire was more dead than alive. She gazed at him an instant in silence.

“Are you going to hang this man?" she gravely asked Clopin.

"Yes, sister,” replied the King of Tunis, “unless you'll take him for your husband."

She pouted her pretty lower lip.

"I'll take him," said she.

Gringoire here firmly believed that he had been dreaming ever since morning, and that this was the end of the dream.

In fact the sudden change of fortune, though charming, was violent.

The slip-noose was unfastened, the poet was helped from his stool. He was obliged to seat himself, so great was his agitation.

The Duke of Egypt, without uttering a word, brought forward an earthen jug. The gypsy girl offered it to Gringoire. "Throw it down," she said to him.

The jug was broken into four pieces.

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Brother," then said the Duke of Egypt, laying his hands on their heads, "she is your wife; sister, he is your husband. For four years. Go!"

JEAN VALJEAN

AND

THE BISHOP

(From "Les Misérables ")

I

My name

AM going to give you this straight. is Jean Valjean. I am a released convict, having spent nineteen years in the hulks. Let out four days ago, I am working my way to Pontarlier, which is my destination. These four days I

have been footing it from Toulon. twelve leagues this day afoot.

I have done

"This evening, in striking this country, I went into a tavern where they kicked me out because I had to show my yellow passport, my ticket-ofleave, you understand, at the mayor's office. I had to show it, see? I went to another public house, but they said: 'Be off!' in the same style. No one will harbor me anywhere. I rapped at the jail and the warder would not open to me. I crept into a dog kennel and the beast snapped at me and worried me out, same as a man-see? It looked as if he knew what I was.

"I went into the fields to sleep under the stars. But there were none, and thinking that it would come on to rain, and there being no good, kind God to stop it from raining on me, I returned into town to find some doorway to snooze in.

"Across the square, I laid on a stone, when a

good woman pointed to your house and said: 'Knock at that door.' I have knocked. What is this house anyhow? a kind of hotel? I carry money. My savings. One hundred and nine francs, fifteen sous, earned in the convict prison by my labor in nineteen years. I will pay fair. What else would you do with me? I have money; I am dead beat-twelve leagues of Shanks' mare, see! I am very hungry. Will you let me stay?'

"Madam Magloire, bring another plate," said the bishop.

With three strides the man neared the lamp on the table.

"Stop, you haven't got this right," said he, as though he had not been understood. "Did you not hear? I am a jail-bird, a galley-slave, fresh from the prison."

He pulled a large sheet of buff paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

"This is my leave to travel. Yellow, as you see, the pest color. It leads to my being kicked out wherever I show myself. Will you read it? I know how. I learnt it in the stone-jug. There is a school for those who like it. Hark ye! this is what is put on the brief:''JEAN VALJEAN, released convict, born at '-oh, you don't care for that? 'Nineteen years in. Five for burglary and theft. teen for trying four times to break out. Number is Most Dangerous.' There you have it! Everybody has given me the throwdown. Will you receive me? Is this a kind of hotel? will you give me meat and a bed? a stable will do for me."

Four

This

"Madam Magloire,” said the host, “air the sheets on the alcove bed."

Such was the obedience of either woman, that Magloire went out straightway to carry on the orders.

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"Monsieur,” said the bishop, turning to the man,