That immense black obelisk thus isolated between the two white expanses of the sky and the river， which was very broad at this point， produced upon Dom Claude a singular effect， comparable to that which would be experienced by a man who， reclining on his back at the foot of the tower of Strasburg， should gaze at the enormous spire plunging into the shadows of the twilight above his head. Only， in this case， it was Claude who was erect and the obelisk which was lying down； but， as the river， reflecting the sky， prolonged the abyss below him， the immense promontory seemed to be as boldly launched into space as any cathedral spire； and the impression was the same. This impression had even one stronger and more profound point about it， that it was indeed the tower of Strasbourg， but the tower of Strasbourg two leagues in height； something unheard of， gigantic， immeasurable； an edifice such as no human eye has ever seen； a tower of Babel.
The chimneys of the houses， the battlements of the walls， the faceted gables of the roofs， the spire of the Augustines， the tower of Nesle， all these projections which broke the profile of the colossal obelisk added to the illusion by displaying in eccentric fashion to the eye the indentations of a luxuriant and fantastic sculpture.
Claude， in the state of hallucination in which he found himself， believed that he saw， that he saw with his actual eyes， the bell tower of hell； the thousand lights scattered over the whole height of the terrible tower seemed to him so many porches of the immense interior furnace； the voices and noises which escaped from it seemed so many shrieks， so many death groans. Then he became alarmed， he put his hands on his ears that he might no longer hear， turned his back that he might no longer see， and fled from the frightful vision with hasty strides.
But the vision was in himself.
When he re-entered the streets， the passers-by elbowing each other by the light of the shop-fronts， produced upon him the effect of a constant going and coming of spectres about him.
There were strange noises in his ears； extraordinary fancies disturbed his brain. He saw neither houses， nor pavements， nor chariots， nor men and women， but a chaos of indeterminate objects whose edges melted into each other. At the corner of the Rue de la Barillerie， there was a grocer's shop whose porch was garnished all about， according to immemorial custom， with hoops of tin from which hung a circle of wooden candles， which came in contact with each other in the wind， and rattled like castanets. He thought he heard a cluster of skeletons at Montfau？on clashing together in the gloom.
"Oh！" he muttered， "the night breeze dashes them against each other， and mingles the noise of their chains with the rattle of their bones！ Perhaps she is there among them！"In his state of frenzy， he knew not whither he was going.
After a few strides he found himself on the Pont Saint-Michel. There was a light in the window of a ground-floor room； he approached. Through a cracked window he beheld a mean chamber which recalled some confused memory to his mind. In that room， badly lighted by a meagre lamp， there was a fresh， light-haired young man， with a merry face， who amid loud bursts of laughter was embracing a very audaciously attired young girl； and near the lamp sat an old crone spinning and singing in a quavering voice. As the young man did not laugh constantly， fragments of the old woman's ditty reached the priest； it was something unintelligible yet frightful，--"~Grève， aboie， Grève， grouille！
File， file， ma quenouille， File sa corde au bourreau， Qui siffle dans le pre(au， Grève， aboie， Grève， grouille~！
"~La belle corde de chanvre！
Semez d'Issy jusqu'á Vanvre Du chanvre et non pas du ble(.
Le voleur n'a pas vole(
La belle corde de chanvre~.
"~Grève， grouille， Grève， aboie！
Pour voir la fille de joie， Prendre au gibet chassieux， Les fenêtres sont des yeux.
Grève， grouille， Grève， aboie！"*
* Bark， Grève， grumble， Grève！ Spin， spin， my distaff， spin her rope for the hangman， who is whistling in the meadow. What a beautiful hempen rope！ Sow hemp， not wheat， from Issy to Vanvre. The thief hath not stolen the beautiful hempen rope.
Grumble， Grève， bark， Grève！ To see the dissolute wench hang on the blear-eyed gibbet， windows are eyes.
Thereupon the young man laughed and caressed the wench.
The crone was la Falourdel； the girl was a courtesan； the young man was his brother Jehan.
He continued to gaze. That spectacle was as good as any other.
He saw Jehan go to a window at the end of the room， open it， cast a glance on the quay， where in the distance blazed a thousand lighted casements， and he heard him say as he closed the sash，--"'Pon my soul！ How dark it is； the people are lighting their candles， and the good God his stars."Then Jehan came back to the hag， smashed a bottle standing on the table， exclaiming，--"Already empty， ~cor-boeuf~！ and I have no more money！
Isabeau， my dear， I shall not be satisfied with Jupiter until he has changed your two white nipples into two black bottles， where I may suck wine of Beaune day and night."This fine pleasantry made the courtesan laugh， and Jehan left the room.
Dom Claude had barely time to fling himself on the ground in order that he might not be met， stared in the face and recognized by his brother. Luckily， the street was dark， and the scholar was tipsy. Nevertheless， he caught sight of the archdeacon prone upon the earth in the mud.
"Oh！ oh！" said he； "here's a fellow who has been leading a jolly life， to-day."He stirred up Dom Claude with his foot， and the latter held his breath.
"Dead drunk，" resumed Jehan. "Come， he's full. Aregular leech detached from a hogshead. He's bald，" he added， bending down， "'tis an old man！ ~Fortunate senex~！"Then Dom Claude heard him retreat， saying，--
