He approached him and addressed him, shaking his arm slightly; for the good man was leaning on the balustrade and dozing a little.
"Monsieur," said Gringoire, "I thank you!" "Monsieur," replied the big man with a yawn, "for what ?" "I see what wearies you," resumed the poet; "'tis all this noise which prevents your hearing comfortably.

But be at ease! your name shall descend to posterity! Your name, if you please ?" "Renauld Chateau, guardian of the seals of the Chatelet of Paris, at your service." "Monsieur, you are the only representative of the muses here," said Gringoire.
"You are too kind, sir," said the guardian of the seals at the Chatelet.
"You are the only one," resumed Gringoire, "who has listened to the piece decorously.

What do you think of it ?" "He! he!" replied the fat magistrate, half aroused, "it's tolerably jolly, that's a fact." Gringoire was forced to content himself with this eulogy; for a thunder of applause, mingled with a prodigious acclamation, cut their conversation short.

The Pope of the Fools had been elected.
"Noel! Noel! Noel!"* shouted the people on all sides.

That was, in fact, a marvellous grimace which was beaming at that moment through the aperture in the rose window.