half red, half violet, sown with silver bells, and, above all, in the perfection of his ugliness, the populace recognized him on the instant, and shouted with one voice,—
"'Tis Quasimodo, the bellringer! 'tis Quasimodo, the hunch-back of Xotre Dame! Quasimodo, the one-eyed! Quasimodo, the bandy-legged! Noël! Noël!"
It will be seen that the poor fellow had a choice of surnames.
"Let the women with child beware! " shouted the scholars.
"Or those who wish to be," resumed Joannes.
The women did, in fact, hide their faces.
'"Oh! the horrible monkey!" said one of them.
"As wicked as he is ugly," retorted another.
"He's the devil," added a third.
"I have the misfortune to live near Notre Dame; I hear him prowling round the eaves by night."
"With the cats."
"He's always on our roofs."
"He throws spells down our chimneys."
"The other evening, he came and made a grimace at me through my attic window. I thought that it was a man. Such a fright as I had!"
"I'm sure that he goes to the witches' sabbath. Once he left a broom on my leads."
"Oh! what a displeasing hunchback's face!"
"Oh! what an ill-favored soul!"
"Whew!"
The men, on the contrary, were delighted and applauded.
Quasimodo, the object of the tumult, still stood on the threshold of the chapel, sombre and grave, and allowed them to admire him.
One scholar (Robin Poussepain, I think), came and laughed in his face, and too close. Quasimodo contented himself with taking him by the girdle, and hurling him ten paces off amid the crowd; all without uttering a word.
Master Coppenole, in amazement, approached him.
"Cross of God! Holy Father! you possess the handsomest ugliness that I have ever beheld in my life. You would deserve to be pope at Rome, as well as at Paris."
