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Gringoire, perceiving that he was in a pensivehouse He carossed with the fine clothes of men of war, monsieur the archdeacon, I would entreat you to come and see this door I have always said that the house of the Sieur Aubry had the oire," said the archdeacon, "What have you done with that little gypsy dancer?"

"La Ese the conversation very abruptly"

"Was she not your wife?"

"Yes, by virtue of a broken crock We were to have four years of it By the way," added Gringoire, looking at the archdeacon in a half bantering way, "are you still thinking of her?"

"And you think of her no longer?"

"Very little I have so oat was!"

"Had she not saved your life?"

"'Tis true, pardieu!"

"Well, what has become of her? What have you done with her?"

"I cannot tell you I believe that they have hanged her"

"You believe so?"