you wish to save your church, or we will take possession of the girl again and pillage the church, which will be a good thing.

In token of which I here plant my banner, and may God preserve you, bishop of Paris,”

Quasimodo could not, unfortunately, hear these words uttered with a sort of sombre and savage majesty. A vagabond presented his banner to Clopin, who planted it solemnly between two paving-stones. It was a pitchfork from whose points hung a bleeding quarter of carrion meat.

That done, the King of Thunes turned round and cast his eyes over his army, a fierce multitude whose glances flashed almost equally with their pikes. After a momentary pause, — “Forward, my Sons!” he cried; “to work, locksmiths!”