“Sir,” said the neighbor, “those are the councillors of the High Chamber on the right, and the councillors of inquiry on the left,—the referendaries in black gowns, and the masters in scarlet ones.”
“Yonder, above them,” added Gringoire, “who is that big red-faced fellow in such a perspiration?”
“That is the president.”
“And those sheep behind him?” continued Gringoire, who, as we have already said, did not love the magistracy. This was perhaps partly due to the grudge which he had borne the Palace of Justice ever since his dramatic misadventure.
“Those are the masters of requests of the king’s household.”
“And that boar in front of them?”
“That is the clerk to the Court of Parliament.”
“And that crocodile on the right?”
“Master Philippe Lheulier, advocate extraordinary to the king.”
“And that big black cat on the left?”
“Master Jacques Charmolue, king’s proxy to the Ecclesiastical Court, with the officials.”
“Now, then, sir,” said Gringoire, “what are all these worthy men doing here?”
“They are trying a case.”
“Whom are they trying? I do not see the prisoner.”
“It’s a woman, sir. You cannot see her. She has her back to us, and is hidden from us by the crowd. Stay; there she is, where you see that group of halberds.”
“Who is the woman?” asked Gringoire. “Do you know her name?”
“No, sir; I have only just got here. I merely suppose that there is sorcery in the case, because the judge of the Bishop’s Court is present at the trial.”
“Well,” said our philosopher, “we will see all these men of the gown devour human flesh. It is as good a sight as any other.”
“Sir,” remarked his neighbor, “doesn’t it strike you that Master Jacques Charmolue has a very amiable air?”
“Hum!” replied Gringoire. “I always suspect an amiability with pinched nostrils and thin lips.”
Here their neighbors demanded silence from the two chatterers; an important piece of evidence was being heard.
“Gentlemen,” said an old woman in the middle of the hall, whose face was so lost in the abundance of her garments that she looked like a walking rag-bag,—“gentlemen, the thing is as true as it is true that my name is La Falourdel, and that I have lived for forty years on the Pont Saint-Michel, paying my rent, lord’s dues, and quit-rents punctually; and the door is just opposite the house of Tassin-Caillart the dyer, which is on the side looking up stream; a poor old woman now, a pretty girl once, gentlemen. Some one said to me only a few days ago, ‘La Falourdel, don’t sit at your wheel and spin too much of an evening; the devil loves to comb old women’s distaffs with his horn. It is very certain that the spectre monk who roamed about the Temple last year now haunts the City. La Falourdel, beware lest he knock at your door.’ One evening I was spinning at my wheel; there was a knock at the door. I asked who was there. Some one swore roundly. I opened. Two men came in,—one in black, with a handsome officer. I could only see the eyes of the one in black,—two burning coals; all the rest was hat and cloak. This is what they said to me: ‘The Saint Martha room.’ That is my upstairs room, gentlemen,—my nicest one. They gave me a crown piece. I put the crown in my drawer, and I said, ‘That shall be to buy tripe tomorrow at the Gloriette shambles.’ We went up. When we got to the upper room, while my back was turned the black man disappeared. This startled me a little. The officer, who was as handsome as any great lord, went downstairs again with me. He left the house. By the time I had spun a quarter of a skein he was back with a lovely young girl,—a puppet who would have shone like the sun if her hair had been well dressed. She had with her a goat,—a big goat. I have forgotten now whether it was black or white. That bothered me. As for the girl, she was none of my business; but the goat! I don’t like those animals; they have a beard and horns. They look like men. And then, they savor of sorcery. However, I said nothing. I had the crownpiece. That was right, my lord judge, wasn’t it? I took the captain and the girl to the upper room, and I left them alone,—that is, with the goat. I went down and began to spin again. You must know that my house has a ground-floor and a floor above; it overlooks the river at the back, like all the rest of the houses on the bridge, and the window on the ground-floor and the one above both open upon the water. As I say, I was spinning. I don’t know how I fell to thinking of the goblin monk, of whom the goat had reminded me; and then, that pretty girl was so queerly rigged out. All at once I heard a scream upstairs, and something fell on the floor, and the window opened. I ran to my window, which is just under it, and I saw a dark mass fall past me into the water. It was a phantom dressed like a priest. It was bright moonlight. I saw as plainly as possible. He swam away towards the City. Then, all in a tremble, I called the watch. Those gentlemen entered, and being somewhat merry, and not knowing what the matter was, they fell to beating me. But I soon explained things to them. We went upstairs, and what did we find? My poor room all stained with blood, the captain stretched out at full length with a dagger in his throat, the girl pretending to be dead, and the goat in a terrible fright. ‘Well done!’ said I; ‘it will take me more than a fortnight to scrub up these boards. I shall have to scrape them; it will be a dreadful piece of work!’ They carried off the officer,—poor young man!—and the girl, all disheveled and in disorder. But stay; the worst of all is that next day, when I went to get the crown to buy my tripe, I found a withered leaf in its place.”