and with white hairs, for it was shedding its hair. Gringoire returned the caresses.
"Who is this with you?" said the gypsy, in a low voice.
"Be at ease," replied Gringoire. "'Tis one of my friends."
Then the philosopher setting his lantern on the ground, crouched upon the stones, and exclaimed enthusiastically, as he pressed Djali in his arms,—
"Oh! 'tis a graceful beast, more considerable no doubt, for it's neatness than for its size, but ingenious, subtle, and lettered as a grammarian! Let us see, my Djali, hast thou forgotten any of thy pretty tricks? How does Master Jacques Charmolue?…"
The man in black did not allow him to finish. He approached Gringoire and shook him roughly by the shoulder. Gringoire rose.
"'Tis true," said he: "I forgot that we are in haste. But that is no reason master, for getting furious with people in this manner. My dear and lovely child, your life is in danger, and Djall's also. They want to hang you again. We are your friends, and we have come to save you. Follow us."
"Is it true?" she exclaimed in dismay.
"Yes, perfectly true. Come quickly!"
"I am willing," she stammered. "But why does not your friend speak?"
"Ah!" said Gringoire, "'tis because his father and mother were fantastic people who made him of a taciturn temperament."
She was obliged to content herself with this explanation. Gringoire took her by the hand; his companion picked up the lantern and walked on in front. Fear stunned the young girl. She allowed herself to be led away. The goat followed them, frisking, so joyous at seeing Gringoire again that it made him stumble every moment by thrusting its horns between his legs.
"Such is life," said the philosopher, every time that he came near falling down; "'tis often our best friends who cause us to be overthrown."
They rapidly descended the staircase of the towers, crossed
