About one o‘clock in the morning the guests began to go. Quasimodo, wrapped in darkness, watched them as they passed beneath the porch bright with torches. The captain was not among them.
He was filled with sad thoughts; at times he looked up into the air, as if tired of waiting. Great, black, heavy clouds, torn and ragged, hung like masses of crape from the starry arch of night. They seemed like the cobwebs of the vaulted sky.
In one of these upward glances he suddenly saw the long window of the balcony whose stone balustrade was just over his head, mysteriously open. Two persons passed out through the glass door, closing it noiselessly behind them; they were a man and a woman. It was not without some difficulty that Quasimodo succeeded in recognizing in the man the handsome captain; in the woman, the young lady whom he had that morning seen wave a welcome to the officer from that self-same balcony. The square was perfectly dark, and a double crimson curtain, which fell again behind the door as it closed, scarcely permitted a ray of light from the room to reach the balcony.
The young man and the girl, as far as our deaf man could judge without hearing a single one of their words, seemed to give themselves up to a very tender tête-à-tête. The young girl had apparently allowed the officer to encircle her waist with his arm, and was making a feeble resistance to a kiss.
Quasimodo looked on from below at this scene, which was all the more attractive because it was not meant to be seen. He beheld that happiness and beauty with bitterness. After all, nature was not mute in the poor devil, and his spinal column, wretchedly crooked as it was, was quite as susceptible of a thrill as that of any other man. He reflected on the miserable part which Providence had assigned him; that woman, love, pleasure, were forever to pass before him, while he could never do more than look on at the happiness of others. But what pained him most in this sight, what added indignation to his annoyance, was the thought of what the gipsy must suffer could she see it. True, the night was very dark; Esmeralda, if she had remained at her post （which he did not doubt）， was very far away, and it was all he could do himself, to distinguish the lovers on the balcony. This comforted him.
Meantime, their conversation became more and more animated. The young lady seemed to be entreating the officer to ask no more of her. Quasimodo could only make out her fair clasped hands, her smiles blent with tears, her upward glances, and the eyes of the captain eagerly bent upon her.
Luckily,—for the young girl’s struggles were growing feebler,—the balcony door was suddenly reopened, and an old lady appeared; the beauty seemed confused, the officer wore a disappointed air, and all three re-entered the house. A moment later a horse was pawing the ground at the door, and the brilliant officer, wrapped in his cloak, passed quickly by Quasimodo.
The ringer let him turn the corner of the street, then ran after him with his monkey-like agility, shouting: “Hollo there! Captain!”
The captain stopped.
“What can that rascal want?” said he, seeing in the shadow the ungainly figure limping quickly towards him.
Meantime Quasimodo caught up with him, and boldly seized the horse by the bridle:— “Follow me, Captain; there is some one here who wishes to speak with you.”
“The devil!” muttered Phoebus, “here’s an ugly scarecrow whom I think I’ve seen elsewhere. Hollo, sirrah! Will you let my horse’s bridle go?”
“Captain,” replied the deaf man, “don’t you even ask who it is?”
“I tell you to let my horse go!” impatiently replied Ph?bus. “What does the fellow mean by hanging to my charger’s rein thus? Do you take my horse for a gallows?”
Quasimodo, far from loosing his hold on the bridle, was preparing to turn the horse’s head in the opposite direction. Unable to understand the captain’s resistance, he made haste to say,— “Come, Captain, it is a woman who awaits you.” He added with an effort: “A woman who loves you.”
“Arrant knave!” said the captain; “do you think I am obliged to go to all the women who love me, or say they do? And how if by chance she looks like you, you screech-owl? Tell her who sent you that I am about to marry, and that she may go to the devil!”
“Hear me!” cried Quasimodo, supposing that with one word he could conquer his hesitation; “come, my lord! it is the gipsy girl, whom you know!”
These words did indeed make a strong impression upon Phoebus, but not of the nature which the deaf man expected. It will be remembered that our gallant officer retired with Fleur-de-Lys some moments before Quasimodo rescued the prisoner from the hands of Charmolue. Since then, during his visits to the Gondelaurier house he had carefully avoided all mention of the woman, whose memory was painful to him; and on her side, Fleur-de-Lys had not thought it politic to tell him that the gipsy still lived. Phoebus therefore supposed poor “Similar” to have died some two or three months before. Let us add that for some moments past the captain had been pondering on the exceeding darkness of the night, the supernatural ugliness and sepulchral tones of the strange messenger, the fact that it was long past midnight, that the street was as deserted as on the night when the goblin monk addressed him, and that his horse snorted at the sight of Quasimodo.