BOOK NINTH.
CHAPTER 4. EARTHENWARE AND CRYSTAL.
 (continued)
The deaf man gazed at her.  He understood this pantomime.
 The poor bellringer's eye filled with tears, but he let none
 fall.  All at once he pulled her gently by the border of her
 sleeve.  She turned round.  He had assumed a tranquil air;
 he said to her,-- 
"Would you like to have me bring him to you?" 
She uttered a cry of joy. 
"Oh! go! hasten! run! quick! that captain! that captain!
 bring him to me!  I will love you for it!" 
She clasped his knees.  He could not refrain from shaking
 his head sadly. 
"I will bring him to you," he said, in a weak voice.  Then
 he turned his head and plunged down the staircase with great
 strides, stifling with sobs. 
When he reached the Place, he no longer saw anything except
 the handsome horse hitched at the door of the Gondelaurier
 house; the captain had just entered there. 
He raised his eyes to the roof of the church.  La Esmeralda
 was there in the same spot, in the same attitude.  He made
 her a sad sign with his head; then he planted his back against
 one of the stone posts of the Gondelaurier porch, determined
 to wait until the captain should come forth. 
In the Gondelaurier house it was one of those gala days
 which precede a wedding.  Quasimodo beheld many people
 enter, but no one come out.  He cast a glance towards the
 roof from time to time; the gypsy did not stir any more than
 himself.  A groom came and unhitched the horse and led it to
 the stable of the house. 
The entire day passed thus, Quasimodo at his post, la
 Esmeralda on the roof, Phoebus, no doubt, at the feet of
 Fleur-de-Lys. 
At length night came, a moonless night, a dark night.
 Quasimodo fixed his gaze in vain upon la Esmeralda; soon
 she was no more than a whiteness amid the twilight; then
 nothing.  All was effaced, all was black. 
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