“ How should I know?” said the priest.
“ This is what I imagine, messire. These Bohemians are something like Guebrs, and adore the sun. Hence, Phœbus.”
“ That does not seem so clear to me as to you, Master Pierre.”
“ After all, that does not concern me. Let her mumble her Phœbus at her pleasure. One thing is certain, that Djali loves me almost as much as he does her.”
“ Who is Djali?”
“ The goat.”
The archdeacon dropped his chin into his hand, and appeared to reflect for a moment. All at once he turned abruptly to Gringoire once more.
“ And do you swear to me that you have not touched her?”
“ Whom?” said Gringoire; “the goat?”
“ No, that woman.”
“ My wife? I swear to you that I have not.”
“ You are often alone with her?”
“ A good hour every evening.”
Dom Claude fro
