It is difficult to convey an idea of the degree of proud and blissful expansion to which the sad and hideous visage of Quasimodo had attained during the transit from the Palais de Justice， to the Place de Grève. It was the first enjoyment of self-love that he had ever experienced. Down to that day， he had known only humiliation， disdain for his condition， disgust for his person. Hence， deaf though he was， he enjoyed， like a veritable pope， the acclamations of that throng， which he hated because he felt that he was hated by it. What mattered it that his people consisted of a pack of fools， cripples， thieves， and beggars？ it was still a people and he was its sovereign. And he accepted seriously all this ironical applause， all this derisive respect， with which the crowd mingled， it must be admitted， a good deal of very real fear. For the hunchback was robust； for the bandy-legged fellow was agile；for the deaf man was malicious： three qualities which temper ridicule.
We are far from believing， however， that the new Pope of the Fools understood both the sentiments which he felt and the sentiments which he inspired. The spirit which was lodged in this failure of a body had， necessarily， something incomplete and deaf about it. Thus， what he felt at the moment was to him， absolutely vague， indistinct， and confused.
Only joy made itself felt， only pride dominated. Around that sombre and unhappy face， there hung a radiance.
It was， then， not without surprise and alarm， that at the very moment when Quasimodo was passing the Pillar House， in that semi-intoxicated state， a man was seen to dart from the crowd， and to tear from his hands， with a gesture of anger， his crosier of gilded wood， the emblem of his mock popeship.
This man， this rash individual， was the man with the bald brow， who， a moment earlier， standing with the gypsy's group had chilled the poor girl with his words of menace and of hatred. He was dressed in an eccleslastical costume. At the moment when he stood forth from the crowd， Gringoire， who had not noticed him up to that time， recognized him：
"Hold！" he said， with an exclamation of astonishment.
"Eh！ 'tis my master in Hermes， Dom Claude Frollo， the archdeacon！ What the devil does he want of that old one-eyed fellow？ He'll get himself devoured！"
A cry of terror arose， in fact. The formidable Quasimodo had hurled himself from the litter， and the women turned aside their eyes in order not to see him tear the archdeacon asunder.
He made one bound as far as the priest， looked at him， and fell upon his knees.
The priest tore off his tiara， broke his crozier， and rent his tinsel cope.
Quasimodo remained on his knees， with head bent and hands clasped. Then there was established between them a strange dialogue of signs and gestures， for neither of them spoke.
The priest， erect on his feet， irritated， threatening， imperious；Quasimodo， prostrate， humble， suppliant. And， nevertheless， it is certain that Quasimodo could have crushed the priest with his thumb.
At length the archdeacon， giving Quasimodo's powerful shoulder a rough shake， made him a sign to rise and follow him.
Quasimodo rose.
Then the Brotherhood of Fools， their first stupor having passed off， wished to defend their pope， so abruptly dethroned.
The Egyptians， the men of slang， and all the fraternity of law clerks， gathered howling round the priest.
Quasimodo placed himself in front of the priest， set in play the muscles of his athletic fists， and glared upon the assailants with the snarl of an angry tiger.
The priest resumed his sombre gravity， made a sign to Quasimodo， and retired in silence.
Quasimodo walked in front of him， scattering the crowd as he passed.
When they had traversed the populace and the Place， the cloud of curious and idle were minded to follow them. Quasimodo then constituted himself the rearguard， and followed the archdeacon， walking backwards， squat， surly， monstrous， bristling， gathering up his limbs， licking his boar's tusks， growling like a wild beast， and imparting to the crowd immense vibrations， with a look or a gesture.
Both were allowed to plunge into a dark and narrow street， where no one dared to venture after them； so thoroughly did the mere chimera of Quasimodo gnashing his teeth bar the entrance.
"Here's a marvellous thing，" said Gringoire； "but where the deuce shall I find some supper？"