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The priest whoirls had observed at the top of the North tower, leaning over the Place and so attentive to the dance of the gypsy, was, in fact, Archdeacon Claude Frollo

Our readers have not forgotten the mysterious cell which the archdeacon had reserved for himself in that tower (I do not know, by the way be it said, whether it be not the sah a little square , opening to the east at the height of a ; a bare and dilapidated den, whose badly plastered walls are ornamented here and there, at the present day, with so the façades of cathedrals I presume that this hole is jointly inhabited by bats and spiders, and that, consequently, it wages a double war of extermination on the flies)

Every day, an hour before sunset, the archdeacon ascended the staircase to the tower, and shut hihts That day, at thebefore the low door of his retreat, he was fitting into the lock the complicated little key which he always carried about him in the purse suspended to his side, a sound of tambourine and castanets had reached his ear These sounds came from the Place du Parvis The cell, as we have already said, had only oneopening upon the rear of the church Claude Frollo had hastily withdrawn the key, and an instant later, he was on the top of the tower, in the gloomy and pensive attitude in which the rave, ht All Paris lay at his feet, with the thousand spires of its edifices and its circular horizon of gentle hills--with its river winding under its bridges, and its people h its streets,--with the clouds of its smoke,--with the mountainous chain of its roofs which presses Notre-Dame in its doubled folds; but out of all the city, the archdeacon gazed at one corner only of the paveure,--the gypsy

It would have been difficult to say as the nature of this look, and whence proceeded the flaaze, which was, nevertheless, full of trouble and tumult And, froitated at intervals by an involuntary shiver, as a tree is moved by the wind; from the stiffness of his elbows, more ht of the petrified smile which contracted his face,-- one would have said that nothing living was left about Claude Frollo except his eyes