at the naivete of his daydream.

"I certainly do like your place," he said aloud, as if to sum up his
reflections.

"Oh, you wouldn't if you had to live here," said the good wife. "We have
plenty of room, too much room, because there are a couple of bedchambers
as big as this, besides plenty of closet space, but it's so
inconvenient--and so cold! And no kitchen--" and she pointed to a
landing where, blocking the stairway, the cook stove had had to be
installed. "And there are so many, many steps to go up when you come
back from market. I am getting old, and I have a twinge of the
rheumatics whenever I think about making the climb."

"You can't even drive a nail into this rock wall and have a peg to hang
things on," said Carhaix. "But I like this place. I was made for it. Now
my wife dreams constantly of spending her last days in Landevennec."

Des Hermies rose. All shook hands, and monsieur and madame made Durtal
swear that he would come again.

"What refreshing people!" exclaimed Durtal as he and Des Hermies crossed
the square.

"And Carhaix is a mine of information."

"But tell me, what the devil is an educated man, of no ordinary
intelligence, doing, working as a--as a day labourer?"

"If Carhaix could hear you! But, my friend, in the Middle Ages
bell-ringers were high officials. True, the craft has declined
considerably in modern times. I couldn't tell you myself how Carhaix
became hipped on the subject of bells. All I know is that he studied at
a seminary in Brittany, that he had scruples of conscience and
considered himself unworthy to enter the priesthood, that he came to
Paris and apprenticed himself to a very intellectual master bell-ringer,
Pere Gilbert, who had in his cell at Notre Dame some ancient and of
course unique plans of Paris that would make your mouth water. Gilbert
wasn't a 'labourer,' either. He was an enthusiastic collector of
documents relating to old Paris. From Notre Dame Carhaix came to Saint
Sulpice, fifteen years ago, and has been there ever since."

"How did you happen to make his acquaintance?"

"First he was my patient, then my friend. I've known him ten years."

"Funny. He doesn't look like a seminary product. Most of them have the
shuffling gait and sheepish air of an old gardener."

"Carhaix will be all right for a few more years," said Des Hermies, as
if to himself, "and then let us mercifully wish him a speedy death. The
Church, which has begun by sanctioning the intr