'I know not，'answered a bystander；'she has just disappeared.They called to her from the house opposite，and so I think she must have gone to dance some fandango there.'
Instead of the Egyptian，on the same carpet，of which the arabesques but a moment before seemed to vanish beneath the fantastic weavings of her dances，the Archdeacon now beheld only the red and yellow man；who，in order to earn an honest penny in his turn，was parading round the circle，his arms akimbo，his head thrown back，very red in the face，and balancing a chair between his teeth.On this chair he had fastened a cat which a woman in the crowd had lent him，and which was swearing with fright.
'Notre-Dame！'cried the Archdeacon，as the mounte-bank，the perspiration pouring off his face，passed before him with his pyramid of cat and chair—'What does M re Pierre Gringoire here？'
The stern voice of the Archdeacon so startled the poor devil that he lost his balance，and with it his whole erection，and the chair and the cat came toppling over right on to the heads of the spectators and in the midst of a deafening uproar.
It is probable that Pierre Gringoire（for it was indeed he）would have had a fine account to settle with the owner of the cat，not to speak of all the bruised and scratched faces round him，had he not hastily availed himself of the tumult and taken refuge in the Cathedral，whither Claude Frollo beckoned him to follow.
The Cathedral was already dark and deserted，the transepts were full of deepest shadow，and the lamps of the chapels were beginning to twinkle like stars under the black vault of the roof.The great central rose-window alone，whose thousand tints were flooded by a horizontal stream of evening sunshine，gleamed in the shadow like a star of diamonds and cast its dazzling image on the opposite side of the nave.
When they had proceeded a few steps，Dom Claude leaned against a pillar and regarded Gringoire steadfastly.This look was not the one Gringoire had feared to encounter in his shame at being surprised by so grave and learned a personage in his merry-andrew costume.There was in the priest's gaze no touch of disdain or mockery；it was serious，calm，and searching.The Archdeacon was the first to break silence.
'Now，M re Pierre，you have many things to explain to me.And first，how comes it that I have seen nothing of you for the last two months，and then find you in the public street in noble guise i'sooth！—part red，part yellow，like a Caudebec apple！'
'Messire，'answered Gringoire plaintively，'it is in very truth a preposterous outfit，and you behold me about as comfortable as a cat with a pumpkin on its head.It is，I acknowledge，an ill deed on my part to expose the gentlemen of the watch to the risk of belabouring，under this motley coat，the back of a Pythagorean philosopher.But what would you，my reverend master？The fault lies with my old doublet，which basely deserted me at the beginning of winter under the protest that it was falling in rags，and that it was under the necessity of reposing itself in the ragman's pack.Que faire？Civilization has not yet reached that point that one may go quite naked，as old Diogenes would have wished.Add to this that the wind blew very cold，and the month of January is not the season to successfully initiate mankind into this new mode.This coat offered itself，I accepted it，and abandoned my old black tunic，which，for a hermetic such as I am，was far from being hermetically closed.Behold me then，in my buffoon's habit，like Saint-Genestus.What would you have？—it is an eclipse.Apollo，as you know，tended the flocks of Admetes.'
'A fine trade this you have adopted！'remarked the Archdeacon.
'I admit，master，that it is better to philosophize and poetize，to blow fire in a furnace or receive it from heaven，than to be balancing cats in the public squares.And when you suddenly addressed me，I felt as stupid as an ass in front of a roasting-pit.But what's to be done，messire？One must eat to live，and the finest Alexandrine verses are nothing between the teeth as compared with a piece of cheese.Now，I composed for the Lady Margaret of Flanders that famous epithalamium，as you know，and the town has not paid me for it，pretending that it was not good enough；as if for four crowns you could give them a tragedy of Sophocles！Hence，see you，I was near dying of hunger.Happily I am fairly strong in the jaws；so I said to my jaw：'Perform some feats of strength and equilibrium—feed yourself.Ale te ipsam.'A band of vagabonds who are become my very good friends，taught me twenty different herculean feats；and now I feed my teeth every night with the bread they have earned in the day.After all，concedo，I concede that it is but a sorry employ of my intellectual faculties，and that man is not made to pass his life in tambourining and carrying chairs in his teeth.But，reverend master，it is not enough to pass one's life；one must keep it.'
Dom Claude listened in silence.Suddenly his deep-set eye assumed so shrewd and penetrating an expression that Gringoire felt that the innermost recesses of his soul were being explored.
'Very good，Master Pierre；but how is it that you are now in company with this Egyptian dancing girl？'
'Faith！'returned Gringoire，'because she is my wife and I am her husband.'
The priest's sombre eyes blazed.
'And hast thou done that，villain！'cried he，grasping Gringoire furiously by the arm；'hast thou been so abandoned of God as to lay hand on this girl？'
'By my hope of paradise，reverend sir，'replied Gringoire，trembling in every limb，'I swear to you that I have never touched her，if that be what disturbs you.'
'What then is thy talk of husband and wife？'said the priest.
