Nevertheless， in that throng， upon which the four allegories vied with each other in pouring out floods of metaphors， there was no ear more attentive， no heart that palpitated more， not an eye was more haggard， no neck more outstretched， than the eye， the ear， the neck， and the heart of the author， of the poet， of that brave Pierre Gringoire， who had not been able to resist， a moment before， the joy of telling his name to two pretty girls. He had retreated a few paces from them， behind his pillar， and there he listened， looked， enjoyed. The amiable applause which had greeted the beginning of his prologue was still echoing in his bosom， and he was completely absorbed in that species of ecstatic contemplation with which an author beholds his ideas fall， one by one， from the mouth of the actor into the vast silence of the audience. Worthy Pierre Gringoire！

It pains us to say it， but this first ecstasy was speedily disturbed. Hardly had Gringoire raised this intoxicating cup of joy and triumph to his lips， when a drop of bitterness was mingled with it.

A tattered mendicant， who could not collect any coins， lost as he was in the midst of the crowd， and who had not probably found sufficient indemnity in the pockets of his neighbors， had hit upon the idea of perching himself upon some conspicuous point， in order to attract looks and alms. He had， accordingly， hoisted himself， during the first verses of the prologue， with the aid of the pillars of the reserve gallery， to the cornice which ran round the balustrade at its lower edge；and there he had seated himself， soliciting the attention and the pity of the multitude， with his rags and a hideous sore which covered his right arm. However， he uttered not a word.

The silence which he preserved allowed the prologue to proceed without hindrance， and no perceptible disorder would have ensued， if ill-luck had not willed that the scholar Joannes should catch sight， from the heights of his pillar， of the mendicant and his grimaces. A wild fit of laughter took possession of the young scamp， who， without caring that he was interrupting the spectacle， and disturbing the universal composure， shouted boldly，--"Look！ see that sickly creature asking alms！"Any one who has thrown a stone into a frog pond， or fired a shot into a covey of birds， can form an idea of the effect produced by these incongruous words， in the midst of the general attention. It made Gringoire shudder as though it had been an electric shock. The prologue stopped short， and all heads turned tumultuously towards the beggar， who， far from being disconcerted by this， saw， in this incident， a good opportunity for reaping his harvest， and who began to whine in a doleful way， half closing his eyes the while，--"Charity， please！""Well--upon my soul，" resumed Joannes， "it's Clopin Trouillefou！ Holà he， my friend， did your sore bother you on the leg， that you have transferred it to your arm？"So saying， with the dexterity of a monkey， he flung a bit of silver into the gray felt hat which the beggar held in his ailing arm. The mendicant received both the alms and the sarcasm without wincing， and continued， in lamentable tones，--"Charity， please！"

This episode considerably distracted the attention of the audience； and a goodly number of spectators， among them Robin Poussepain， and all the clerks at their head， gayly applauded this eccentric duet， which the scholar， with his shrill voice， and the mendicant had just improvised in the middle of the prologue.