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Esmeralda sat up on the horse , put her hands on the young officer’s shoulders , and looked at him for a long time . He was tall and handsome , and he wore a fine uniform . “ What is your name , sir ? ” she asked softly . “ Captain Phoebus de Châteaupers , at your service , my beauty , ” he said , and he smiled . “ Thank you , ” she said . Then she slid down from the horse and ran away so quickly that he could not stop her . “ I would rather have kept the girl than the bell - ringer , ” said the captain . III . The Court of Miracles Gringoire lay in the dirty , cold water of the street for some time . When he got up , his head hurt and his clothes were wet through , and then some boys came running past with an old straw mattress , which they wanted to burn , and they threw it right on top of him . He jumped up , and the boys screamed that he was a ghost and ran away . He ran too , in the other direction , until he was completely lost . At last he came to a long , narrow street which went down a hill . There were people in it , but they were strange people : a beggar with no legs who pulled himself along the ground on his hands , a lame man with two sticks , and a blind man who was led by a big dog . As soon as they saw Gringoire , they all began to follow him and beg for money . He walked faster , and they walked faster too , so that soon there were dozens of them round him , the lame , the blind , men with one arm and men with terrible sores , and all of them were going the same way . Then the street opened into a large square , where fires were burning , and hundreds of people were drinking , shouting and singing around them . The poet turned to run , but the lame man threw away his sticks and ran after him on two good legs , and the blind man looked straight at him with two bright eyes . “ Where am I ? ” cried the poet . “ In the Court of Miracles , ” said a voice . Now he understood . This was the most famous den of thieves in Paris , the place where the beggars came home at night , took off their false sores and wooden legs , and became healthy again . That was the miracle . No honest man ever came here , and the police did not dare to enter . “ Take him to the king ! ” shouted the crowd again and again . They pulled him across the square to a big fire , and near it , on top of a barrel , sat a man in rags with a sort of crown on his head . Gringoire knew his voice at once . It was the beggar who had cried “ Charity ! ” in the great hall that morning and spoiled his play . His sore had gone , and he looked very much at home .
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