This cry of distress，far from moving them to compassion，only added to the amusement of the populace gathered round the pillory，who，it must be admitted，taking them in a mass，were scarcely less cruel and brutal than that debased tribe of vagabonds whom we have already introduced to the reader.Not a voice was raised around the unhappy victim save in mockery of his thirst.Undoubtedly his appearance at that moment—with his purple，streaming face，his eye bloodshot and distraught，the foam of rage and pain upon his lips，his lolling tongue—made him an object rather of repulsion than of pity；but we are bound to say that had there even been among the crowd some kind，charitable soul tempted to carry a cup of water to that poor wretch in agony，there hung round the steps of the pillory，in the prejudice of the times，an atmosphere of infamy and shame dire enough to have repelled the Good Samaritan himself.
At the end of a minute or two Quasimodo cast his despairing glance over the crowd once more，and cried in yet more heart-rending tones，'Water！'
Renewed laughter on all sides.
'Drink that！'cried Robin Poussepain，throwing in his face a sponge soaked in the kennel.'Deaf rogue，I am thy debtor.'
A woman launched a stone at his head—'That shall teach thee to wake us at night with thy accursed ringing.'
'Ah-ha，my lad，'bawled a cripple，trying to reach him with his crutch，'wilt thou cast spells on us again from the towers of Notre-Dame，I wonder？'
'Here's a porringer to drink out of，'said a man，hurling a broken pitcher at his breast.'Tis thou，that only by passing before her，caused my wife to be brought to bed of a child with two heads！'
'And my cat of a kit with six legs！'screamed an old woman as she flung a tile at him.
'Water！'gasped Quasimodo for the third time.
At that moment he saw the crowd part and a young girl in fantastic dress issue from it；she was accompanied by a little white goat with gilded horns，and carried a tambourine in her hand.
Quasimodo's eye flashed.It was the gipsy girl he had attempted to carry off the night before，for which piece of daring he felt in some confused way he was being chastised at that very moment；which was not in the least the case，seeing that he was punished only for the misfortune of being deaf and having had a deaf judge.However，he doubted not that she，too，had come to have her revenge and to aim a blow at him like the rest.
He beheld her rapidly ascend the steps.Rage and vexation choked him；he would have burst the pillory in fragments if he could，and if the flash of his eye had possessed the lightning's power，the gipsy would have been reduced to ashes before ever she reached the platform.
Without a word she approached the culprit，who struggled vainly to escape her，and detaching a gourd bottle from her girdle，she raised it gently to those poor parched lips.
Then from that eye，hitherto so dry and burning，there rolled a great tear which trickled down the uncouth face，so long distorted by despair and pain—the first，maybe，the hapless creature had ever shed.
But he had forgotten to drink.The gipsy impatiently made her little familiar grimace；then，smiling，held the neck of the gourd to Quasimodo's tusked mouth.
He drank in long draughts；he was consumed with thirst.
When，at last，he had finished，the poor wretch advanced his black lips—no doubt to kiss the fair hands which had just brought him relief；but the girl，mistrusting him perhaps，and remembering the violent attempt of the night before，drew back her hand with the frightened gesture of a child expecting to be bitten by some animal.Whereat the poor，deaf creature fixed upon her a look full of reproach and sadness.
In any place it would have been a touching spectacle to see a beautiful girl—so fresh，so pure，so kind，and so unprotected—hastening thus to succour so much of misery，of deformity and wickedness.On a pillory，it became sublime.
The people themselves were overcome by it，and clapped their hands，shouting，'N ！N ！'
It was at this moment that the recluse，through the loophole of her cell，caught sight of the gipsy girl on the steps of the pillory，and launched her sinister imprecation：'Cursed be thou，daughter of Egypt！cursed！cursed！'
Chapter 5-The end of the Wheaten Cake
Esmeralda blanched and swayed as she descended the steps of the pillory，the voice of the recluse pursuing her as she went：'Come down！come down！Ah，thou Egyptian thief，thou shalt yet return there again！'
'The sachette is in one of her tantrums，'murmured the people；but they went no further，for these women were feared，which made them sacred.In those days they were shy of attacking a person who prayed day and night.
The hour had now arrived for releasing Quasimodo.They unfastened him from the pillory，and the crowd dispersed.
Near the Grand-Pont，Mahiette，who was going away with her companions，suddenly stopped.'Eustache，'she said，'what hast thou done with the cake？'
'Mother，'answered the child，'while you were talking to the dame in the hole a great dog came and took a bite of my cake，and so then I too had a bite.'
'What，sir，'she cried，'you have eaten it all！'
'Mother，it was the dog.I told him，but he would not listen；then I bit a piece too.'
''Tis a shocking boy！'said the mother，smiling fondly while she scolded.'Look you，Oudarde，already he eats by himself all the cherries in our little orchard at Charlerange.So his grandfather predicts he will be a captain.—Let me catch you at it again，Monsieur Eustache.Go，greedy lion！'