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"Yes," said Des Hermies, "and what is mighty strange in this day of crass materialism is the idea of battles fought in space, over the cities, between a priest of Lyons and prelates of Rome." "And between this priest and the Rosicrusians and Canon Docre." Durtal remembered that Mme.
"I hear, monsieur, that you are occupied with a history of Gilles de Rais," said Gévingey to Durtal. "Yes, for the time being I am up to my eyes in Satanism with that man." "And," said Des Hermies, "we were just going to appeal to your extensive knowledge. You only can enlighten my friend on one of the most obscure questions of Diabolism." "Which one?" "That of incubacy and succubacy."
Des Hermies, accustomed to the mighty resonance of the bells at short range, thought only of the coffee, which he had put on the stove to keep hot. Then the booming of the bell came more slowly. The humming departed from the air. The window panes, the glass of the bookcase, the tumblers on the table, ceased to rattle and gave off only a tenuous tinkling. A step was heard on the stair.
For me, then, the real psychologist of this century is not their Stendhal but that astonishing Ernest Hello, whose unrelenting unsuccess is simply miraculous!" He began to think that Des Hermies was right. In the present disorganized state of letters there was but one tendency which seemed to promise better things.
How I envy Carhaix his robust faith!" "You don't want much!" said Des Hermies. "Faith is the breakwater of the soul, affording the only haven in which dismasted man can glide along in peace." "You like that?" asked Mme. Carhaix. "For a change I served the broth yesterday and kept the beef for tonight.
"Des Hermies, who is well acquainted with the underworld of science, maintains that more than forty alchemic furnaces are now alight in France, and that in Hanover and Bavaria the adepts are more numerous yet. "Have they rediscovered the incomparable secret of antiquity? In spite of certain affirmations, it is hardly probable.
Carhaix, seeing Durtal draw from his pocket some bottles wrapped in paper, while Des Hermies placed on the table some little packages tied with twine. "You mustn't spend your money on us." "Oh, but you see we enjoy doing it, Mme. Carhaix. And your husband?" "He is in the tower. Since morning he has been going from one tantrum into another."
"Let's see, Des Hermies, you were claiming yesterday that Satanism has pursued an uninterrupted course since the Middle Ages," said Durtal, wishing to get back to the subject which haunted him. "Yes, and the documents are irrefutable. I'll put you into a position to prove them whenever you wish.
"I am very much afraid," said Des Hermies, "that not only these so-called astrologers, but also all the mages, theosophists, occultists, and cabalists of the present day, know absolutely nothing those with whom I am acquainted are indubitably, incontestably, ignorant imbeciles. And that is the pure truth, messieurs.
The latter had to return to the subjugated workroom, and the cat, shocked by the racket, arched its back and, rubbing against its master's legs, followed him to a place of safety. In the thick of the conflict Des Hermies rang the door bell. "I'll put on my shoes," cried Durtal, "and we'll get out of this.
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