At the same time an isolated voice，not in the choir，intoned from the step of the high altar this impressive offertory：
'Qui verbum meum audit，et credit ei qui misit me，habet vita ernam et in judicium non venit；sed transit a morte in vitam.'
This chant intoned by a few old men lost in the gloom of the church，and directed at this beautiful creature full of youth and life，wooed by the balmy air of spring，and bathed in sunshine，was the mass for the dead.
The multitude listened with pious attention.
The hapless，terrified girl seemed to lose all sight and consciousness in this view into the dark bowels of the church.Her white lips moved as if she prayed，and when the hang-man's assistant advanced to help her down from the tumbrel，he heard a low murmur from her—'P us！'
They untied her hands and made her descend from the cart，accompanied by her goat，which they had also unbound，and which bleated with delight at finding itself free.She was then made to walk barefoot over the rough pavement to the bottom of the flight of steps leading up to the door.The rope she had round her neck trailed after her like a serpent in pursuit.
The chant ceased inside the church.A great cross of gold and a file of wax tapers set themselves in motion in the gloom.The halberds of the bishop's guard clanked，and a few moments later a long procession of priests in their chasubles and deacons in their dalmatics advancing，solemnly chanting，towards the penitent，came into her view and that of the crowd.But her eye was arrested by the one who led the procession，immediately behind the cross-bearer.
'Oh，'she murmured with a shudder，''tis he again—the priest！'
It was the Archdeacon.On his left walked the sub-chanter，on his right the precentor，armed with his wand of office.He advanced with head thrown back，his eyes fixed and wide，chanting with a loud voice：
'De ventre inferi clamavi，et exaudisti vocem meam.
'Et projecisti me in profundum corde maris et flumen circumdedit me.'
As he came into the broad daylight under the high Gothic doorway，enveloped in a wide silver cope barred with a black cross，he was so pale，that more than one among the crowd thought that it was one of the marble bishops off some tomb in the choir come to receive on the threshold of the grave her who was about to die.
No less pale and marble than himself，she was scarcely aware that they had thrust a heavy lighted taper of yellow wax into her hand；she did not listen to the raucous voice of the clerk as he read out the terrible wording of the penance；when she was bidden to answer Amen，she answered Amen.
The first thing that brought back to her any life and strength was seeing the priest sign to his followers to retire，and he advanced alone towards her.Then，indeed，she felt the blood rush boiling to her head，and a last remaining spark of indignation flamed up in that numbed and frozen spirit.
The Archdeacon approached her slowly.Even in her dire extremity，she saw his lustful eye wander in jealousy and desire over her half-nude form.Then he said to her in a loud voice：
'Girl，have you asked pardon of God for your sins and offences？'He bent over her and whispered（the spectators supposing that he was receiving her last confession）：'Wilt thou be mine？I can save thee yet！'
She regarded him steadfastly：'Begone，devil，or I will denounce thee！'
A baleful smile curled his lips.'They would not believe thee.Thou wouldst but be adding a scandal to a crime.Answer quickly！Wilt thou be mine？'
'What hast thou done with my P us？'
'He is dead，'said the priest.
At that moment the miserable Archdeacon raised his eyes mechanically，and there，at the opposite side of the Place，on the balcony of the Gondelaurier's house，was the captain himself，standing by the side of Fleur-de-Lys.He staggered，passed his hand over his eyes，looked again，murmured a curse，and every feature became distorted with rage.
'Then die thou too！'he muttered between his teeth.'No one shall have thee！'Then lifting his hand over the gipsy girl，he cried in a sepulchral voice：'I nunc，anima anceps，et sit tibi Deus misericors！'
This was the awful formula with which it was customary to close this lugubrious ceremonial.It was the accepted signal from the priest to the executioner.
The people fell upon their knees.
'Kyrie eleison！'said the priests standing under the arched doorway.
'Kyrie eleison！'repeated the multitude in that murmur that runs over a sea of heads like the splashing of stormy waves.
'Amen，'responded the Archdeacon.And he turned his back upon the doomed girl，his head fell on his breast，he crossed his hands，rejoined his train of priests，and vanished a moment afterward with the cross，the tapers and the copes under the dim arches of the cathedral，and his sonorous voice gradually died away in the choir chanting this cry of human despair：
'Omnes gurgites tui et fluctus tui super me transierunt！'
The intermittent clank of the butt-ends of the guards'pikes growing fainter by degrees in the distance，sounded like the hammer of a clock striking the last hour of the condemned.
All this time the doors of Notre-Dame had remained wide open，affording a view of the interior of the church，empty，desolate，draped in black，voiceless，its lights extinguished.
The condemned girl remained motionless on the spot where they had placed her，awaiting what they would do with her.One of the sergeants had to inform M re Charmolue that matters had reached this point，as during the foregoing scene he had been wholly occupied in studying the bas-relief of the great doorway，which，according to some，represents Abraham's sacrifice，and according to others，the great alchemistic operation—the sun being figured by the angel，the fire by the fagot，and the operator by Abraham.
They had much ado to draw him away from this contemplation；but at last he turned round，and at a sign from him，two men in yellow，the executioner's assistants，approached the gipsy to tie her hands again.