The streets were becoming blacker and more deserted every moment. The curfew had sounded long ago. Gringoire had become involved, in his pursuit of the gypsy, in the labyrinth of alleys, squares, and closed courts.
The young girl’s attention had been attracted to him for the last few moments; she had repeatedly turned her head towards him with uneasiness.
He dropped his head, began to count the paving-stones, and tried to follow the young girl at a little greater distance, when, at the turn of a street, which had caused him to lose sight of her, he heard her utter a piercing cry.
He hastened his steps.
The street was full of shadows. Nevertheless, he saw the gypsy struggling in the arms of two men. The poor little goat, in great alarm, lowered his horns and bleated.
“Help! Gentlemen of the watch
