was the usage, at the miserable statue of that P�rinet Leclerc who had delivered up the Paris of Charles VI.

to the English, a crime which his effigy, its face battered with stones and soiled with mud, expiated for three centuries at the corner of the Rue de la Harpe and the Rue de Buci, as in an eternal pillory.

The Petit-Pont traversed, the Rue Neuve-Sainte-Genevi�ve crossed, Jehan de Molendino found himself in front of Notre-Dame. Then indecision seized upon him once more, and he paced for several minutes round the statue of M. Legris, repeating to himself with anguish: “The sermon is sure, the crown is doubtful.”

He stopped a beadle who emerged from the cloister, — “Where is monsieur the archdeacon of Josas?”