NEXT morning she realized when she woke up that she had been asleep. This singular fact amazed her. For so long she had grown unaccustomed to sleep. A joyful beam from the rising sun came in through the window and fell upon her face. At the same time as the sun she saw at the window an object which frightened her; the unfortunate face of Quasimodo. Involuntarily she closed her eyes again, but in vain; she still thought she could see through her rosy eyelids that gnome's mask, one-eyed and gap-toothed. Then, as she kept her eyes closed, she heard a rough voice saying very gently: 'Don't be afraid. I am your friend. I came to look at you sleeping. It does you no harm, does it, if I come and look at you sleeping? What does it matter to you if I am there when your eyes are closed? Now I'm going away. There, I've put myself behind the wall. You can open your eyes again.'
Even more plaintive than these words was the tone in which they were uttered. Touched, the gypsy opened her eyes. He was indeed no longer at the window. She went to it and saw the poor hunchback huddled into a corner of the wall, in an attitude of sorrowful resignation. She made an effort to overcome the revulsion he inspired in her. 'Come,' she said to him gently. From the movement of her lips Quasimodo thought she was sending him off: so he stood up and limped away, slowly, hanging his head, not even daring to look up at the girl with his eye full of despair. 'Come here, then,' she cried. But he continued to retreat. Then she rushed out of the cell, ran after him and took him by the arm. When he felt her touch upon him, Quasimodo trembled in every limb. He looked up with a beseeching eye, and seeing that she was drawing him close to her, his whole face radiated joy and tenderness. She tried to make him enter her cell, but he stayed obstinately in the