While his eye thus lingered over the dark and misty scene，the bell-ringer felt an indescribable sense of anxiety rising within him.For several days he had been on the watch.He had constantly noticed men of sinister aspect loitering round the church and never taking their eyes off the gipsy girl's hiding-place.He feared lest some plot should be hatching against the unfortunate refugee.He conceived her to be an object of popular hatred，as he was himself，and that something might very well be going to happen in the immediate future.Thus he remained on his tower on the lookout—'Revant dans son revoir'—Musing in his musery—as Rabelais says，his eye by turns on the cell and on Paris，keeping safe watch，like a trusty dog，with a thousand suspicions in his mind.
All at once，while he was reconnoitring the great city with that solitary eye which nature，as if by way of compensation，had made so piercing that it almost supplied the deficiency of other organs in Quasimodo，it struck him that there was something unusual in the appearance of the outline of the quay of the Veille Pelleterie，that there was some movement at this point，that the line of the parapet which stood out black against the whiteness of the water was not straight and still like that of the other quays，but that it appeared to undulate like the waves of a river or the heads of a crowd in motion.
He thought this very peculiar.He redoubled his attention.The movement appeared to be coming towards the city—not a light，however.It lasted some time on the quay，and then flowed away by degrees，as if whatever was passing along was entering the interior of the island；then it ceased altogether，and the line of the quay returned to its wonted straightness and immobility.
Just as Quasimodo was exhausting himself in conjectures，it seemed to him that the movement was reappearing in the Rue du Parvis，which runs into the city in a straight line with the front of Notre-Dame.At last，despite the great darkness，he could descry the head of a column issuing from that street，and the next instant a crowd spreading out into the square，of which he could distinguish nothing further than that it was a crowd.
It was a fear-compelling spectacle.No doubt this strange procession，which seemed so anxious to cloak itself under the profound darkness，preserved a silence no less profound.Still，some sound must have escaped from it，were it only the tramp of feet.But even this sound did not reach the deaf hunchback，and the great multitude，which he could only dimly see，but which he heard not at all，moving so near him，seemed to him like an assemblage of the dead—mute，ghostly shapes，hovering in a mist—shadows in a shade.
Then his former fears returned；the idea of an attempt against the gipsy girl presented itself once more to his mind.He had a vague premonition of some violent situation approaching.At this critical moment he held counsel with himself，reasoning with greater acumen and promptness than would have been expected from so ill-organized a brain.Should he awaken the gipsy girl？—help her to escape？Which way？The streets were blocked，the church was backed by the river—no boat—no egress.There remained but one thing therefore—to face death on the threshold of Notre-Dame；to hold them off at least until assistance came，supposing there were any to come，and not to disturb the slumbers of Esmeralda.The unhappy girl would always be awakened early enough to die.This resolution once taken，he proceeded to observe'the enemy'with greater calmness.
The crowd in the Parvis appeared to be increasing momentarily；though，seeing that the windows of the streets and the Place remained closed，he concluded that they could not be making much noise.Suddenly a light shone out，and in an instant seven or eight torches were waving above the heads，tossing their plumes of flame through the darkness.By their light Quasimodo had a clear vision of an appalling band of tatterdemalions—men and women—flocking into the Parvis，armed with scythes，pikes，pruning-forks，partisans—their thousand blades glittering as they caught the fitful light—and here and there black pitchforks furnishing horns to these hideous visages.He had a confused remembrance of that populace，and thought to recognise in them the crowd which but a few months before had acclaimed him Pope of Fools.A man holding a torch in one hand and a birch rod in the other was mounted on a corner post and apparently haranguing the multitude，and at the same time the ghostly army performed some evolutions as if taking up a position round the church.Quasimodo picked up his lantern and descended to the platform between the towers to observe more closely and deliberate on the means of defence.
Arrived in front of the great door of Notre-Dame，Clopin Trouillefou had in fact drawn up his troops in battle array.Though anticipating no resistance，yet，like a prudent general，he determined to preserve so much order as would，in case of need，enable him to face a sudden attack of the watch or the city guard.Accordingly，he had so disposed his brigade that，seen from above and at a distance，it might have been taken for the Roman triangle at the battle of Ecnoma，the boar's head of Alexander，or the famous wedge of Gustavus Adolphus.The base of this triangle ran along the back of the Place in such a manner as to bar the Rue du Parvis，one side looked towards the Htel-Dieu，the other towards the Rue Saint-Pierre aux Bufs.Clopin Trouillefou had posted himself at the point with the Duke of Egypt，our friend Jehan，and the boldest of the beggar tribe.
