Out at the door! "Tis a disgrace For this degraded girl to lift Her eyes to such a lofty place.

ESMERALDA.

Oh, defend me! Help! Defend me, Save me, Phoebus, I implore thee; For the poor forsaken gypsy, Stands defenseless now before thee!

PHOEBUS.

I love her, and I love but her.

Yes! her defender I will be.

I"ll fight for her, and my strong arm Will bear my heart out valiantly.

If some one must be her protector, I am the one--and doubt me not, Her wrongs are mine, and who insults her Must answer for it on the spot.

ALL.

What! She is what he loves! Indeed!

Away from here, away from here!

A gypsy he prefers to us; With loving words he calms her fear.

Hush! silence! Both of you be still!

No further words of insolence.

[_To Phoebus._] From you, "tis too much arrogance!

[_To Esmeralda._] From thee, too much impertinence!

[_Phoebus and his friends protect the gypsy, who is menaced by all the guests of Madame De Gondelaurier. Esmeralda staggers toward the door._

ACT III

Scene.--_The front yard of a tavern. Tavern to the right; trees to the left. In the back a door, and a small low wall which closes in the yard.

In the distance the roof of Notre Dame with its towers and its spire. A dark silhouette of old Paris outlines itself against the red sunset. The river Seine is at the base of the picture_

SCENE I

_Phoebus, Viscount de Gif, M. de Morlaix, M. de Chevreuse, and many other friends of Phoebus, seated at tables, are drinking, and singing; afterward Don Claude Frollo_

CHORUS.

Be propitious and well-inclined, Our Lady of Saint Lo, To him who only water hates Of all things here below!

PHOEBUS.

Give to the brave In every place A well-filled cellar, A pretty face.

Happy fellow!

Help him hold Dainty women, Wine that"s old.

If a beauty Of cold mien Be unwilling, "Tis sometimes seen, He jokes with her With merry winks, Then he sings, Then he drinks!

The day goes by.

Or drunk or not, He soon embraces His Toinotte; Then ferocious He goes to bed In a cannon"s mouth, And sleeps like lead!

And his soul, Which often seems To mix up women With his dreams, Is contented if the wind, With its come and go, Rocks the canvas of his tent Gently to and fro!

CHORUS.

Be propitious and well inclined, Our Lady of Saint Lo!

To him who only water hates Of all things here below.

[_Enter Claude Frollo, who seats himself at a table at some distance from Phoebus, and appears at first to observe nothing that pa.s.ses around him._

VISCOUNT DE GIF (_to Phoebus_).

That pretty gypsy, What are you doing with her?

[_Claude Frollo makes a movement of attention._

PHOEBUS.

To-night, in an hour, I have a meeting with her.

ALL.

Truly?

PHOEBUS.

Truly!

[_The agitation of Claude Frollo increases._

VISCOUNT DE GIF.

In one hour?

PHOEBUS.

In one moment!

Oh, love! supremest rapture!

To feel one heart holds two!

To own the woman that one loves-- Be slave and conqueror too!

To have her soul; to have her charms, Her song which fills with bliss; To see her sweet eyes wet with tears, To dry them with a kiss.

[_While he sings, the others drink and strike their gla.s.ses._

CHORUS.