Yet it was an easy and pleasant service，that of being on duty at the side of the fair Fleur-de-Lys，and time was when he had thought it so.But the captain had gradually wearied of it，and the thought of his approaching marriage grew more distasteful to him every day.Moreover，he was of inconstant disposition，and，we are bound to confess，of somewhat vulgar proclivities.Although of very noble birth，he had with his uniform adopted many of the low habits of the common soldier.The tavern and all that belongs to it delighted him；and he was never at his ease but amid gross language，military gallantries，facile beauties，and easy conquests.Nevertheless，he had received from his family a certain amount of education and polish，but he had too early been allowed to run loose，had been thrust too young into garrison life，and the varnish of polite manner had not been sufficiently thick to withstand the constant friction of the soldier's harness.Though still visiting her occasionally，from some last remnant of kindly feeling，he felt himself increasingly constrained in the presence of Fleur-de-Lys；partly because by dint of dividing his love so freely on all sides，he had very little left for her；partly because in the presence of these stiff，decorous，and well-bred beauties，he went in constant fear lest his tongue，accustomed to the great oaths of the guard-room，should suddenly get the better of him and rap out some word that would appal them.
And yet with all this he combined great pretensions to elegance，to sumptuous dress，and noble bearing.Let the reader reconcile these qualities for himself.I am merely the historian.
He had been standing for some moments，in silence，leaning against the chimney-piece，thinking of something or perhaps of nothing at all，when Fleur-de-Lys suddenly turning round addressed him.After all，it went very much against the poor girl's heart to keep up any show of coldness towards him.
'Cousin，did you not tell us of a little gipsy girl you had rescued out of the hands of a band of robbers about two months ago，when you were going the counter-watch at night？'
'I believe I did，fair cousin，'answered the captain.
'Well，'she resumed，'perhaps this is the very girl dancing now in the Parvis.Come and see if you recognise her，Cousin P us.
A secret desire for reconciliation sounded through this gentle invitation to her side，and in the care she took to call him by his name.Captain P us de Chateaupers（for it is he whom the reader has had before him since the beginning of this chapter）accordingly slowly approached the balcony.
'Look，'said Fleur-de-Lys，tenderly laying her hand on his arm，'look at the girl dancing there in the ring.Is that your gipsy？'
P us looked.'Yes，'said he，'I know her by her goat.'
'Oh，what a pretty little goat！'cried Amelotte，clapping her hands delightedly.
'Are its horns real gold？'asked Berangère.
Without rising from her seat，Dame Al e inquired：'Is that one of the band of Bohemians who arrived last year by the Porte Gibard？'
'Lady mother，'said Fleur-de-Lys gently，'that gate is now called Porte d'Enfer.'
Mlle.de Gondelaurier was well aware how much the captain was shocked by her mother's antiquated modes of expression.Indeed，he muttered with a disdainful laugh：'Porte Gibard！Porte Gibard！That is to give passage to King Charles VI，no doubt！'
'Godmother！'exclaimed Berangère，whose quick and restless eyes were suddenly attracted to the top of the towers of Notre-Dame.'Who is that man in black up there？'
All the girls looked up.A man was leaning with his elbows on the topmost parapet of the northern tower which looked towards the Grève.It was a priest—as could be seen by his dress—and they could clearly distinguish his face，which was resting on his two hands.He stood as motionless as a statue，and in his gaze，fixed steadily on the Place beneath him，there was something of the immobility of the kite looking down upon the sparrow's nest it has just discovered.
'It is Monsieur the Archdeacon of Josas，'said Fleur-de-Lys.
'You must have good sight to recognise him at this distance，'observed La Gaillefontaine.
'How he glares at the little dancer！'said Diane de Christeuil.
'Then let the Egyptian beware，'said Fleur-de-Lys，'for he loves not Egypt.'
''Tis a pity he should look at her like that，'added Amelotte de Montmichel，'for she dances most bewitchingly.'
'Cousin P us，'said Fleur-de-Lys impulsively，'since you know this gipsy girl，will you not beckon to her to come up here—it will divert us.'
'Oh，yes！'cried the other girls，clapping their hands gleefully.
'What a madcap idea！'replied P us.'Doubtless she has forgotten me，and I do not even know her name.However，as you wish it，mesdamoiselles，I will see what I can do.'And leaning over the balcony he called out，'Little one！'
The dancing girl was not playing her tambourine at that moment.She turned her head towards the spot from which the voice came，her brilliant eyes caught sight of P us，and she suddenly stood still.
'Little one，'repeated the captain，and he motioned to her to come up.
The girl looked at him again，then blushed as if a flame had risen to her cheeks，and taking her tambourine under her arm，she made her way through the gaping crowd towards the door of the house whence P us called her，her step slow and uncertain，and with the troubled glance of a bird yielding to the fascination of a serpent.
A moment later the tapestry was raised，and the gipsy appeared on the threshold of the room，flushed，shy，panting，her great eyes lowered，not daring to advance a step farther.
Berangère clapped her hands.