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After having, in old days, made friends by chance, and having taken the impression of souls which had nothing in common with his own, he had at last chosen after much useless vagabondage; he had become the intimate friend of a certain Doctor des Hermies, a physician, who devoted much attention to demoniac possession and to mysticism, and of a Breton, named Carhaix, the bell-ringer at St. Sulpice.
"Of course a literary man would be interested in the books," said Carhaix, who had been watching Durtal. "You mustn't be too critical, monsieur. I have only the tools of my trade." Durtal went over and took a look. The collection consisted largely of works on bells.
"And that is not the half of it! Look," said Carhaix, in his turn, rising and taking from his bookshelf a blue brochurette. "Here is a review, La voix de la septaine, dated 1843. It informs us that for twenty-five years, at Agen, a Satanistic association regularly celebrated black masses, and committed murder, and polluted three thousand three hundred and twenty hosts!
"Just the way it is with bell ringing," said Carhaix. "No, you see, messieurs," Gévingey went on, "the day when the grand sciences of the Middle Ages fell foul of the systematic and hostile indifference of an impious people was the death-day of the soul in France.
"'All my old ties are broken, he said, as he parted from me. He was so sad that I had not the heart to question him further." There was a silence. Carhaix went up to his tower to ring a peal. His wife removed the dessert dishes and the cloth. Des Hermies prepared the coffee. Durtal, pensive, rolled his cigarette.
And he desired some death, but that the Queen might know it was in finding her; then would death come easily. So he left Carhaix secretly, telling no man, neither his kindred nor even Kaherdin, his brother in arms. He found in a haven a great ship ready, the sail was up and the anchor-chain short at the bow. God save you, my lords, he said, and send you a good journey.
And he bounded up a staircase, while Des Hermies pushed Durtal along in front of him in a way that made retreat impossible. As he was once more groping along the winding stairs, Durtal asked, "Why didn't you tell me your friend Carhaix for of course that's who he is was a bell-ringer?"
I climbed and climbed and climbed, and I'm all out of breath," and he sank, puffing, into an armchair. "Well, my friend," he said at last, coming into the bedroom, "I learned from the beadle that you were ill, and I came to see how you were getting on." Durtal examined him. An irrepressible gaiety exuded from this sanguine, smooth-shaven face, blue from the razor. Carhaix introduced them.
"Oh!" exclaimed Carhaix. "Take care. The mere name of that man brings disaster." "Bah! Canon Docre to utter his ineffable name can do nothing to us. I confess I cannot understand why he should inspire any terror. But never mind. I should like for Durtal, before we hunt up the canon, to see your friend Gévingey, who seems to be best and most intimately acquainted with him.
Once below, after Carhaix had closed the door of his tower, they hastened their steps, for the north wind swept the square. "After all," said Des Hermies, "Satanism aside and yet Satanism also is a phase of religion admit that, for two miscreants of our sort, we hold singularly pious conversations. I hope they will be counted in our favour up above."
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