He waited a quarter of an hour; he felt as if a century had been added to his age. All at once he heard the boards of the wooden staircase creak; some one was coming up. The trap-door opened; a light appeared. There was a considerable crack in the worm-eaten door of his prison; to this he glued his face. Thus he could see everything that happened in the next room. The cat-faced old woman first rose from the trap-door, lamp in hand; then came Ph?bus, twirling his moustache; then a third person,—that lovely, graceful creature, Esmeralda. The priest saw her rise from below like a dazzling apparition. He trembled; a cloud came before his eyes; his veins swelled to bursting; everything swam before him; he saw and heard nothing more.
When he recovered his senses, Ph?bus and Esmeralda were alone, seated on the wooden chest beside the lamp, whose light revealed to the archdeacon’s eyes their two youthful figures, and a miserable pallet at the back of the garret.
Beside the pallet there was a window, through whose panes, shattered like a cobweb upon which rain has fallen, were seen a patch of sky, and the moon in the distance resting on a bed of soft clouds.
The young girl was blushing and trembling, and confused. Her long, drooping lashes shaded her flushed cheeks. The officer, to whose face she dared not raise her eyes, was radiant. Mechanically, and with a charming awkwardness, she drew meaningless lines on the bench with her finger-tip, and then looked at her finger. Her feet were hidden, for the little goat was lying upon them.
The captain was very gallantly arrayed; at his wrists and neck he wore embroidery, then considered very elegant.
Dom Claude could scarcely hear what they said, for the throbbing of his temples.
Lovers’ talk is very commonplace. It is a perpetual “I love you.” A very bare and very insipid phrase to an indifferent ear, unless adorned with a few grace-notes; but Claude was not an indifferent listener.
“Oh,” said the girl, without raising her eyes, “do not despise me, my lord Ph?bus! I feel that I am doing very wrong.”
“Despise you, pretty child!” replied the officer with an air of extreme gallantry,—“despise you! By God’s passion! and why?”
“For coming here with you.”
“On that point, my beauty, we are not agreed. I should not despise you, but hate you.”
The young girl gazed at him in affright. “Hate me! What have I done?”
“For requiring so much urging.”
“Alas!” said she, “that is because I am breaking a sacred vow. I shall never find my parents! The amulet will lose its virtue; but what does that matter? Why should I need father or mother now?”
So saying, she fixed upon the captain her large dark eyes, moist with love and joy.
“The Devil take me if I understand you!” exclaimed Phoebus.
Esmeralda was silent for a moment, then a tear fell from her eyes, a sigh from her lips, and she said, “Oh, my lord, I love you!”
There was such an odor of chastity, such a charm of virtue about the young girl, that Phoebus did not feel wholly at his ease with her. But this speech emboldened him. “You love me!” said he, with transport; and he threw his arm around the gipsy’s waist. He had only waited for such an opportunity.
The priest saw him, and tested with the tip of his finger the point of a dagger hidden in his bosom.
“Phoebus,” continued the gipsy girl, gently removing the captain’s stubborn hands from her girdle, “you are good, you are generous, you are kind; you saved me—me, who am but a poor gipsy foundling. I have long dreamed of an officer who should save my life. It was of you I dreamed before I ever knew you, my Phoebus; the image of my dreams had a gorgeous uniform like yours, a grand air, a sword. Your name is Ph?bus; it is a beautiful name. I love your name; I love your sword. Draw your sword, Phoebus, and let me see it.”
“Child!” said the captain; and he unsheathed his rapier with a smile.
The gipsy girl studied the handle, the blade, examined the letters on the hilt with adorable curiosity, and kissed the sword, as she said,— “You are a brave man’s sword. I love my captain.”
Ph?bus again took advantage of the situation to imprint on her lovely bent neck a kiss which made the girl start up as red as a cherry. The priest ground his teeth in the darkness at the sight.
“Phoebus,” resumed the gipsy, “let me talk to you. Walk about a little, so that I may have a good look at you, and hear your spurs jingle. How handsome you are!”
The captain rose to gratify her, while he scolded her with a smile of satisfaction:— “What a child you are! By the way, my charmer, did you ever see me in my full dress uniform?”