For a man of God, his air became utterly distracted by the fugitive who had stumbled upon these hallowed grounds. After a moment, Claude Frollo fell silent before he resumed, as though speaking to himself, "Cain, what hast thou done with thy brother?"

Then his tongue no longer articulated any perceptible sound; but his lips still moved. All at once the priest sank together and lay motionless on the tiles of Notre-Dame de Paris, with his head pressed against his knees. Finally, he passed his hand slowly over his hollow cheeks, and gazed for several moments at his fingers, which were wet. "What!" he murmured. "I have wept!"

And turning suddenly with unspeakable anguish, Claude spoke. "Alas! You have looked coldly on at my tears! Do you know that those tears are of lava? Is it indeed true? Nothing touches when it comes from the man whom one does not love. If you were to see me die, you would laugh. Oh! I do not wish to see you die! One word! A single word of pardon! Say not that you love me, say only that you will do it; that will suffice; I will save you. If not... if..."

Those words, concealing an unspoken threat, trailed off like a bell prolonging its last vibration. His eyes were wild, and his voice grew even weaker.

"The hour is passing," he said at last. "I entreat you by all that is sacred, do not wait until I shall have turned to stone again, like that gibbet which also claims you! Reflect that I hold the destinies of both of us in my hand, that I am mad,—it is terrible,—that I may let all go to destruction, and that there is beneath us a bottomless abyss, whither my fall will follow yours to all eternity! One word of kindness! Say one word! Only one word!"