"No," said the young girl, at length, "no! Guillaume Longuejoue would beat me." She retreated into the crowd.
"You are unlucky, comrade," said Clopin.
Then rising to his feet, upon his hogshead.

"No one wants him," he exclaimed, imitating the accent of an auctioneer, to the great delight of all; "no one wants him?
once, twice, three times!" and, turning towards the gibbet with a sign of his hand, "Gone!" Bellevigne de l'Etoile, Andry the Red, Francois Chante-Prune, stepped up to Gringoire.
At that moment a cry arose among the thieves: "La Esmeralda! La Esmeralda!" Gringoire shuddered, and turned towards the side whence the clamor proceeded.
The crowd opened, and gave passage to a pure and dazzling form.
It was the gypsy.
"La Esmeralda!" said Gringoire, stupefied in the midst of his emotions, by the abrupt manner in which that magic word knotted together all his reminiscences of the day.
This rare creature seemed, even in the Cour des Miracles, to exercise her sway of charm and beauty.

The vagabonds, male and female, ranged themselves gently along her path, and their brutal faces beamed beneath her glance.
She approached the victim with her light step.

Her pretty Djali followed her.

Gringoire was more dead than alive.