“That is singular,” said the priest dreamily. “Yet a handsome uniform is a beautiful thing.”

Gringoire, perceiving that he was in a pensive mood, quitted him to go and admire the porch of a neighboring house.

He came back clapping his hands.

“If you were less engrossed with the fine clothes of men of war, monsieur the archdeacon, I would entreat you to come and see this door. I have always said that the house of the Sieur Aubry had the most superb entrance in the world.”

“Pierre Gringoire,” said the archdeacon, “What have you done with that little gypsy dancer?”

“La Esmeralda? You change the conversation very abruptly.”