Nothing was lacking, not even the rope, which swung gracefully over the cross-beam.
"What are they going to do ?" Gringoire asked himself with some uneasiness.

A sound of bells, which he heard at that moment, put an end to his anxiety; it was a stuffed manikin, which the vagabonds were suspending by the neck from the rope, a sort of scarecrow dressed in red, and so hung with mule-bells and larger bells, that one might have tricked out thirty Castilian mules with them.

These thousand tiny bells quivered for some time with the vibration of the rope, then gradually died away, and finally became silent when the manikin had been brought into a state of immobility by that law of the pendulum which has dethroned the water clock and the hour-glass.

Then Clopin, pointing out to Gringoire a rickety old stool placed beneath the manikin,--"Climb up there." "Death of the devil!" objected Gringoire; "I shall break my neck.

Your stool limps like one of Martial's distiches; it has one hexameter leg and one pentameter leg." "Climb!" repeated Clopin.
Gringoire mounted the stool, and succeeded, not without some oscillations of head and arms, in regaining his centre of gravity.
"Now," went on the King of Thunes, "twist your right foot round your left leg, and rise on the tip of your left foot." "Monseigneur," said Gringoire, "so you absolutely insist on my breaking some one of my limbs ?" Clopin tossed his head.
"Hark ye, my friend, you talk too much.