Gringoire endeavoured to squeeze some extenuating plea between these brief ejaculations jerked at him by the offended monarch.'I ask your pardon，monsieur，but it is not Hebrew；it is Latin.'
'I tell thee，'retorted the enraged Clopin，'that I'm not a Jew，and I'll have thee hanged，ventre de synagogue！as well as that little usurer of Judea standing beside thee，and whom I hope to see some day nailed to a counter，like the bad penny that he is.'
As he spoke，he pointed to the little bearded Hungarian Jew who had accosted Gringoire with'Facitote caritatem，'and who，understanding no other language，was much astonished that the King of Tunis should thus vent his wrath on him.
At length Monseigneur Clopin's wrath abated.
'So，rascal，'said he to our poet，'you are willing to become a Vagabond？'
'Willingly，'replied the poet.
'Willing is not all，'said Clopin gruffly.'Good-will never put an extra onion into the soup，and is of no value but for getting you into Paradise.Now，Paradise and Argot are two very different places.To be received into Argot you must first prove that you are good for something，and to that end you must search the manikin.'
'I will search，'said Gringoire，'anything you please.'
At a sign from Clopin，several Argotiers detached themselves from the group and returned a moment afterward，bearing two posts ending in two broad wooden feet，which insured them standing firmly on the ground.To the upper end of these posts they attached a cross-beam，the whole constituting a very pretty portable gallows，which Gringoire had the satisfaction of seeing erected before him in the twinkling of an eye.It was quite complete，even to the rope swinging gracefully from the transverse beam.
'What are they after now？'Gringoire asked himself with some uneasiness.The jingling of little bells，which at that moment sounded on his ear，banished his anxiety，for it proceeded from a stuffed figure which the Vagabonds were hanging by the neck to the rope，a sort of scarecrow，dressed in red and covered with little tinkling bells sufficient to equip thirty Castilian mules.The jingling of these thousand bells continued for some time under the vibration of the rope，then died slowly away and sank into complete silence as the figure hung motionless.
Then Clopin，pointing to a rickety old stool placed beneath the figure，said to Gringoire，'Mount that.'
'Death of the devil！'objected Gringoire，'I shall break my neck.Your stool halts like a distich of Martial：one leg is hexameter and one pentameter.'
'Get up，'repeated Clopin.
Gringoire mounted upon the stool and succeeded，though not without some oscillations of head and arms，in finding his centre of gravity.
'Now，'continued the King of Tunis，'twist your right foot round your left leg，and stand on tip-toe on your left foot.'
'Monseigneur，'remonstrated Gringoire，'you are determined，then，that I should break some of my limbs？'
Clopin shook his head.'Hark ye，friend—you talk too much.In two words，this is what you are to do：stand on tip-toe，as I told you；you will then be able to reach the manikin's pocket；you will put your hand into it and pull out a purse that is there.If you do all this without a sound from one of the bells，well and good；you shall be a Vagabond.We shall then have nothing further to do but belabour you well for a week.'
'Ventre Dieu！I will be careful，'said Gringoire.'And what if I make the bells ring？'
'Then you will be hanged.Do you understand？'
'No，not at all，'declared Gringoire.
'Listen once more.You are to pick the manikin's pocket，and if a single bell stirs during the operation you will be hanged.You understand that？'
'Yes，'said Gringoire，'I understand that.What next？'
'If you succeed in drawing out the purse without sounding a single bell，you are a Vagabond，and you will be soundly beaten for eight days running.You understand now，no doubt.'
'No，monseigneur，I do not understand.Hanged in one case，beaten in the other；where does my advantage come in？'
'And what about becoming a rogue？'rejoined Clopin.'Is that nothing？It's in your own interest that we beat you，so that you may be hardened against stripes.'
'I am greatly obliged to you，'replied the poet.
'Come，make haste！'said the King with a resounding kick against his barrel.'Pick the manikin's pocket and be done with it.I warn you for the last time that if I hear the faintest tinkle you shall take the manikin's place.'
The whole crew of Argotiers applauded Clopin's words，and ranged themselves in a circle round the gallows with such pitiless laughter，that Gringoire saw plainly that he was affording them too much amusement not to have cause to fear the worst.He had therefore no hope left，save perhaps in the faint chance of succeeding in the desperate task imposed upon him.He resolved to risk it，but he first addressed a fervent prayer to the man of straw whom he was preparing to rob，and whose heart he was more likely to soften than those of the rogues.These myriad bells with their little brazen tongues seemed to him like so many asps with mouths open ready to hiss and bite.
'Oh，'he breathed，'can it be that my life depends on the faintest vibration of the smallest of these bells？Oh，'he added，clasping his hands，'oh，clashing，jingling，tinkling bells，be silent，I implore！'
He made one more attempt with Trouillefou.
'And if there should come a puff of wind？'
'You will be hanged，'replied the other without hesitation.
