"Horrible, in truth," said Gringoire, who clung to his idea; "but how did you manage to escape him?"
La Esmeralda smiled, sighed, and remained silent.
"Do you know why he followed you," began Gringoire again, seeking to return to his question by a circuitous route.
"I don't know," said the young girl, and she added hastily, "But you were following me also, why were you following me?"
"In good faith," responded Gringoire, "I don't know either."
Silence ensued. Gringoire slashed the table with his knife. The young girl smiled and seemed to be gazing through the wall at something. All at once she began to sing in a barely articulate voice,—
Quando las pintadas aves,
Mudas estan, y la tierra—[1]
She broke off abruptly, and began to caress Djali.
"That's a pretty animal of yours," said Gringoire.
"She is my sister," she answered.
"Why are you called la Esmeralda?" asked the poet.
"I do not know."
"But why?"
She drew from her bosom a sort of little oblong bag, suspended from her neck by a string of adrezarach beads. This bag exhaled a strong odor of camphor. It was covered with green silk, and bore in its centre a large piece of green glass, in imitation of an emerald.
"Perhaps it is because of this," said she.
Gringoire was on the point of taking the bag in his hand. She drew back.
"Don't touch it! It is an amulet. You would injure the charm, or the charm would injure you."
The poet's curiosity was more and more aroused.
"Who gave it to you?"
She laid one finger on her mouth and concealed the amulet
- ↑ When the gay-plumaged birds grow weary, and the earth—
