The Bells — The Hunchback of Notre-Dame

After the morning on the pillory, the neighbours of Notre-Dame notice that Quasimodo's eagerness for ringing has cooled. The church that once pealed from prime to compline, for mass, weddings, and christenings, now gives only the bare sound the ritual asks for. The organ remains. The bells stay quiet. The shame of the pillory may still be living in him. Or the great bell Marie may have a rival.

On Annunciation Day, Tuesday the twenty-fifth of March 1482, clear air brings a little of that love back. He climbs the northern tower and sets the six bells swinging. Deaf, he sees the scale instead of hearing it, and joy takes him. He runs from rope to rope, urging Gabrielle, Thibauld, Guillaume, Pasquier, and the little Moineaux. Then, through the slate of the wall, he sees a young girl in strange dress spread a carpet on the square. A small goat takes its place, and people gather. His pleasure freezes. He turns from the bells, crouches behind the roof, and watches her with a tender look. The forgotten bells die all at once.