Nevertheless, her song breathed joy, most of all, and she seemed to sing like a bird, from serenity and heedlessness.
The gypsy's song had disturbed Gringoire's revery as the swan disturbs the water.

He listened in a sort of rapture, and forgetfulness of everything.

It was the first moment in the course of many hours when he did not feel that he suffered.
The moment was brief.
The same woman's voice, which had interrupted the gypsy's dance, interrupted her song.
"Will you hold your tongue, you cricket of hell ?" it cried, still from the same obscure corner of the place.
The poor "cricket" stopped short.

Gringoire covered up his ears.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "accursed saw with missing teeth, which comes to break the lyre!" Meanwhile, the other spectators murmured like himself; "To the devil with the sacked nun!" said some of them.

And the old invisible kill-joy might have had occasion to repent of her aggressions against the gypsy had their attention not been diverted at this moment by the procession of the Pope of the Fools, which, after having traversed many streets and squares, debouched on the Place de Greve, with all its torches and all its uproar.
This procession, which our readers have seen set out from the Palais de Justice, had organized on the way, and had been recruited by all the knaves, idle thieves, and unemployed vagabonds in Paris; so that it presented a very respectable aspect when it arrived at the Greve.
First came Egypt.