, Mme. Carhaix,
your cooking tempts us to the sin of gluttony--If you keep on you will
make perfect pigs of us."

"Oh, you are joking. I wonder what is keeping Louis."

"Somebody is coming upstairs," said Durtal, hearing the creaking of
shoes in the tower.

"No, it isn't his step," and she went and opened the door. "It's
Monsieur Gevingey."

And indeed, clad in his blue cape, with his soft black hat on his head,
the astrologer entered, made a bow, like an actor taking a curtain call,
nibbed his great knuckles against his massive rings, and asked where the
bell-ringer was.

"He is at the carpenter's. The oak beams holding up the big bell are
cracked and Louis is afraid they will break down."

"Any news of the election?" and Gevingey took out his pipe and filled
it.

"No. In this quarter we shan't know the results until nearly ten
o'clock. There's no doubt about the outcome, though, because Paris is
strong for this democratic stuff. General Boulanger will win hands
down."

"This certainly is the age of universal imbecility."

Carhaix entered and apologized for being so late. While his wife brought
in the soup he took off his goloshes and said, in answer to his friends'
questions, "Yes; the dampness had rusted the frets and warped the beams.
It was time for the carpenter to intervene. He finally promised that he
would be here tomorrow and bring his men without fail. Well, I am mighty
glad to get back. In the streets everything whirls in front of my eyes.
I am dizzy. I don't know what to do. The only places where I am at home
are the belfry and this room. Here, wife, let me do that," and he pushed
her aside and began to stir the salad.

"How good it smells!" said Durtal, drinking in the incisive tang of the
herring. "Do you know what this perfume suggests? A basket funnelled
fireplace, twigs of juniper snapping in it, in a ground-floor room
opening on to a great harbour. It seems to me there is a sort of salt
water halo around these little rings of gold and rusted
iron.--Exquisite," he said as he tasted the salad.

"We'll make it again for you, Monsieur Durtal," said Mme. Carhaix, "you
are not hard to please."

"Alas!" said her husband, "his palate isn't, but his soul is. When I
think of his despairing aphorisms of the other night! However, we are
praying God to enlighten him. I'll tell you," he said to his wife, "we
will invoke Saint Nolasque and Saint Theodulus, who are always
represented with bells. They