“Madame my mother,” said Fleur-de-Lys gently, “that gate is now called the Porte d’Enfer.”

Mademoiselle de Gondelaurier knew how her mother’s antiquated mode of speech shocked the captain. In fact, he began to sneer, and muttered between his teeth: “Porte Gibard! Porte Gibard! ‘Tis enough to make King Charles VI. pass by.”

“Godmother!” exclaimed B�rang�re, whose eyes, incessantly in motion, had suddenly been raised to the summit of the towers of Notre-Dame, “who is that black man up yonder?”

All the young girls raised their eyes.

A man was, in truth, leaning on the balustrade which surmounted the northern tower, looking on the Gr�ve.