Again the sachette clasped her daughter in her arms.'Come，let me kiss thee；thou sayest that so prettily.When we are back in our own home，we will put the little shoes on the feet of an Infant Jesus in a church.We owe so much to the dear Virgin.Lord，what a sweet voice thou hast！When thou wert speaking to me just now it was just like music.Oh，Father in heaven，have I found my child again？Could any one believe such a story？Surely，nothing can kill one，for I have not died of joy.'And she began clapping her hands and laughing as she cried：'Oh，we are going to be so happy！'
At that moment the cell resounded to the clank of arms and the galloping of horses，coming apparently from the Pont Notre-Dame and hastening nearer and nearer along the quay.The girl threw herself in anguish into the sachette's arms.
'Save me！save me！Mother，they are coming！'
The recluse grew pale.'Oh，heaven！what dost thou say？I had forgotten；they are pursuing thee.What hast thou done？'
'I know not，'answered the unhappy girl，'but I am condemned to death.'
'To death！'said Gudule，staggering as if struck by a thunder-bolt.'Death！'she repeated slowly，and fixed her daughter with wide staring eyes.
'Yes，mother，'repeated the girl distractedly，'they want to kill me.They are coming to hang me.That gallows is for me.Save me！save me！Here they come；oh，save me！'
The recluse stood for a moment as if petrified，then shook her head in doubt，and finally burst into a fit of laughter—the horrid laughter of her former days.
'Oh，oh，no！'tis a dream thou art telling me.What，I should have lost her for fifteen years，and then should find her，but only for a minute！And they would take her from me now—now that she is so beautiful，that she is a woman grown，that she speaks to me and loves me！And now they would come and devour her under my very eyes—who am her mother！Oh，no，such things are not possible.God would never permit it.'
The cavalcade now apparently made a halt，and a distant voice could be heard saying：'This way，Messire Tristan！The priest told us we should find her at the Rat-Hole.'The tramp of horses commenced again.
The recluse started up with a cry of despair：'Fly，fly，my child！It all comes back to me now.Thou art right.They seek thy death！Horror！Malediction！—Fly！'
She thrust her head through the window，but drew it back again hastily.
'Stay where you are，'she said in a quick，terrified whisper，convulsively pressing the hand of the girl，who was already more dead than alive.'Keep still，do not breathe，there are soldiers everywhere.Thou canst not go out.It is too late.'
Her eyes were dry and burning.For a few moments she did not speak，but paced her cell with rapid steps，stopping at intervals to pluck out whole strands of her gray hair and tear them with her teeth.
'They are coming，'she said suddenly；'I will speak to them.Do thou hide in that corner.They will not see thee.I will tell them that thou hast escaped—that I let thee go！'
She carried her daughter to a corner of the cell which could not be seen from outside；made her crouch down；disposed her carefully so that neither foot nor hand came beyond the shadow；spread her long black hair round her to cover the white robe，and set up the pitcher and flag-stone，the only furniture she had，in front of her，trusting that they would conceal her.This done，finding herself calmer，she knelt down and prayed.The day，which was only just dawning，left abundant darkness still in the Rat-Hole.
At this moment the voice of the priest—that voice from hell—sounded close to the cell，crying：'This way，Captain P us de Chateaupers！'
At that name，uttered by that voice，Esmeralda，cowering in her corner，made a movement.
'Do not stir！'murmured Gudule.
She had scarcely spoken before a tumultuous crowd of men and horses stopped in front of the cell.The mother rose hastily and posted herself at the loophole to cover the aperture.She beheld a strong body of armed men，horse and foot，drawn up in the Grève.Their commander dismounted and came towards her.
'Old woman，'said this man，whose face wore a repulsive expression，'we are seeking a witch to hang her.They tell us you had hold of her.'
The poor mother assumed the most unconscious air she was able.
'I do not quite take your meaning，'she answered.
'Tête-Dieu！Then what was this story of the crazy Archdeacon's？'said Tristan.'Where is he？'
'My lord，'said one of the soldiers，'he has disappeared.'
'Go to，old hag，'the commander went on；'lie not to me.A witch was given into thy hand.What hast thou done with her？'The recluse feared to deny altogether lest she should arouse suspicion，so she answered in a truthful but surly tone：
'If you mean a strong young wench that they thrust into my hands a while ago，I can tell you that she bit me，and I let her go.That's all I know.Leave me in peace.'
The commander pulled a disappointed face.'Let me have no lies，old spectre！'he said.'My name is Tristan l'Hermite，and I am the King's Gossip.Tristan l'Hermite，dost thou hear？'and he added，casting his eyes round the Place de Grève，''tis a name that has echoes here.'
'And if you were Satan l'Hermite，'retorted Gudule，gathering hope，'I would have nothing different to say to you，nor would I be afraid of you！'
'Tête-Dieu！'exclaimed Tristan，'here's a vixen！So the witch girl escaped！And which way did she go？'
'Through the Rue du Mouton，I think，'answered Gudule carelessly.
Tristan turned and signed to his men to prepare for resuming their march.The recluse breathed again.
'Monseigneur，'said an archer suddenly，'ask the old beldame how it is that her window-bars are broken thus？'
This question plunged the wretched mother back into despair.Still she did not lose all presence of mind.'They were always so，'she stammered.
'Bah！'returned the archer，'only yesterday they made a fine black cross that inclined one to devotion.'
Tristan glanced askance at the recluse.'The beldame seems uneasy，'he said.
