It technically wasn't defenestration.

Surely that was written somewhere in the Good Book. Thou shall not defenestrate your master. And he tried so very hard to live his life by the words of the Bible, as he had been raised to do.

Still, when a crumpled, broken body lay at the very steps of The Notre Dame herself, it was hard to believe that Frollo may have ended up there through any other means. Who would believe that Frollo himself - poised, in charge, perhaps a bit insane, but always completely in control, Judge Claude Frollo - had ended up standing pecariously on a crumbling gargoyle solely in the name of murder?

The townsfolk most certainly did not.

And the townsfolk did not take these things lightly. No one denied that Frollo had gone a bit mad with his purge. None denied that he had pursued Quasimodo and Esmerelda as they had fled into the Notre Dame.

But no one believed he had been the maker of his own destruction.

It had been all that they had talked about for the last three days. He could not so much as poke his face out of the blessed cathedral that had once been his only sanctuary, without the whispers that followed his very appearance.

"That's him. That's the bellringer that killed Judge Frollo."

"He's the man responsible for Frollo's death."

Nothing he, nor Phebus, nor even Esmerelda herself said could convince the masses that Quasimodo had not thrown Frollo from the walls of the sacred building. The townsfolk would not be swayed. Their minds had been made up, and no one, nothing short of divine intervention would ever convince them otherwise.

But really, if they wanted to celebrate Quasi for his part in Frollo's death, who was he to stop them?