Realizing that there was no respite，no delay or subterfuge possible，he bravely set about his task.He twisted his right foot round his left ankle，rose on his left foot，and stretched out his hand；but as he touched the manikin，his body，being now supported but on one foot，swayed on the stool which had but three；he clutched mechanically at the figure，lost his balance，and fell heavily to the ground，deafened by the fatal clashing of the manikin's thousand bells，while the figure，yielding to the thrust of his hand，first revolved on its own axis，and then swung majestically between the two posts.
'Malediction！'exclaimed the poet as he fell，and he lay face downward on the earth as if dead.
Nevertheless，he heard the terrible carillon going on above his head，and the diabolical laughter of the thieves，and the voice of Trouillefou saying：'Lift the fellow up and hang him double-quick！'
Gringoire rose to his feet.They had already unhooked the manikin to make room for him.
The Argotiers forced him to mount the stool.Clopin then came up，passed the rope round his neck，and clapping him on the shoulders，'Adieu，l'ami，'he said.'You don't escape this time，not even if you were as cunning as the Pope himself.'
The word'mercy'died on Gringoire's lips.He looked around him—not a sign of hope—all were laughing.
'Bellevigne de l'ètoile，'said the King of Tunis to a gigantic rogue，who at once stood forth from the rest，'climb up on to the top beam.'
Bellevigne de l'ètoile clambered nimbly up，and the next instant Gringoire，on raising his eyes，saw with terror that he was astride the cross-beam above his head.
'Now，'resumed Clopin Trouillefou，'when I clap my hands，do you，Andry le Rouge，knock over the stool with your knee；Fra is Chante-Prune will hang on to the rascal's legs，and you，Bellevigne，jump on to his shoulders—but all three at the same time，do you hear？'
Gringoire shuddered.
'Ready？'cried Clopin Trouillefou to the three Argotiers waiting to fall on Gringoire like spiders on a fly.The poor victim had a moment of horrible suspense，during which Clopin calmly pushed into the fire with the point of his shoe some twigs of vine which the flame had not yet reached.
'Ready？'he repeated，and raised his hands to clap.A second more and it would have been all over.
But he stopped short，struck by a sudden idea.'One moment，'he said；'I had forgotten.It is the custom with us not to hang a man without first asking if there's any woman who will have him.Comrade，that's your last chance.You must marry either an Argotiére or the rope.'
Absurd as this gipsy law may appear to the reader，he will find it set forth at full length in old English law.（See Burington's Observations.）
Gringoire breathed again.It was the second reprieve he had had within the last half hour.Yet he could not place much confidence in it.
'Holá！'shouted Clopin，who had reascended his throne.'Holá there！women—wenches—is there any one of you，from the witch to her cat，any jade among you who'll have this rogue？Holá Colette la Charonne！Elisabeth Trouvain！Simone Jodouyne！Marie Pièdebou！Thonne-la-Longue！Bèrarde Fanouel！Michelle Genaille！Claude Ronge-oreille！Mathurine Girorou！Hullah！Isabeau la Thierrye！Come and look！A husband for nothing！Who'll have him？'
Gringoire，in this miserable plight，was doubtless not exactly tempting.The ladies seemed but little moved at the proposal，for the unfortunate man heard them answer：'No，no—hang him！Then we shall all get some enjoyment out of him！'
Three of them，however，did come forward and inspect him.The first，a big，square-faced young woman，carefully examined the philosopher's deplorable doublet.His coat was threadbare and with more holes in it than a chestnut roaster.The woman made a wry face.'An old rag，'she muttered，and turning to Gringoire，'Let's see thy cloak.'
'I have lost it，'answered Gringoire.
'Thy hat？'
'They took it from me.'
'Thy shoes？'
'The soles are coming off.'
'Thy purse？'
'Alas！'stammered Gringoire，'I haven't a single denier parisis.'
'Then be hanged and welcome！'retorted the woman，turning her back on him.
The second，a hideous old beldame，black and wrinkled，and so ugly as to be conspicuous even in the Court of Miracles，came and viewed him from all sides.He almost trembled lest she should take a fancy to him.But she muttered between her teeth，'He's too lean，'and went away.
The third was a young girl，rosy-cheeked and not too ill-favoured.'Save me！'whispered the poor devil.She considered him for a moment with an air of pity，then cast down her eyes，played with a fold in her petticoat，and stood irresolute.Gringoire followed her every movement with his eyes—it was the last gleam of hope.
'No，'she said at length，'no；Guillaume Longjoue would beat me.'So she rejoined the others.
'Comrade，'said Clopin，'you've no luck.'
Then，standing up on his barrel：'Nobody bids？'he cried，mimicking the voice of an auctioneer to the huge delight of the crowd.'Nobody bids？Going—going—'and，with a sign of the head to the gallows—'gone！'
Bellevigne de l'ètoile，Andry le Rouge，Fra is Chante-Prune again approached Gringoire.
At that moment a cry arose among the Argotiers：'La Esmeralda！la Esmeralda！'
Gringoire started，and turned in the direction whence the shouts proceeded.The crowd opened and made way for a fair and radiant figure.It was the gipsy girl.
'La Esmeralda？'said Gringoire，amazed even in the midst of his emotions how instantaneously this magic word linked together all the recollections of his day.
This engaging creature seemed to hold sway even over the Court of Miracles by the power of her exceeding charm and beauty.The Argotiers，male and female，drew aside gently to let her pass，and their brutal faces softened at her look.
She approached the victim with her firm，light step，followed closely by her pretty Djali.Gringoire was more dead than alive.She regarded him a moment in silence.
