, the engineer, offended by any object that hasn't a
sinister or ignoble form, reveals himself entire in this invention. He
tells us, 'You want heat. You shall have heat--and nothing else.'
Anything agreeable to the eye is out of the question. No more snapping,
crackling wood fire, no more gentle, pervasive warmth. The useful
without the fantastic. Ah, the beautiful jets of flame darting out from
a red cave of coals and spurting up over a roaring log."

"But there are lots of stoves where you can see the fire," objected
madame.

"Yes, and then it's worse yet. Fire behind a grated window of mica.
Flame in prison. Depressing! Ah, those fine fires of faggots and dry
vine stocks out in the country. They smell good and they cast a golden
glow over everything. Modern life has set that in order. The luxury of
the poorest of peasants is impossible in Paris except for people who
have copious incomes."

The bell-ringer entered. Every hair of his bristling moustache was
beaded with a globule of snow. With his knitted bonnet, his sheepskin
coat, his fur mittens and goloshes, he resembled a Samoyed, fresh from
the pole.

"I won't shake hands," he said, "for I am covered with grease and oil.
What weather! Just think, I've been scouring the bells ever since early
this morning. I'm worried about them."

"Why?"

"Why! You know very well that frost contracts the metal and sometimes
cracks or breaks it. Some of these bitterly cold winters we have lost a
good many, because bells suffer worse than we do in bad weather.--Wife,
is there any hot water in the other room, so I can wash up?"

"Can't we help you set the table?" Des Hermies proposed.

But the good woman refused. "No, no, sit down. Dinner is ready."

"Mighty appetizing," said Durtal, inhaling the odour of a peppery
_pot-au-feu_, perfumed with a symphony of vegetables, of which the
keynote was celery.

"Everybody sit down," said Carhaix, reappearing with a clean blouse on,
his face shining of soap and water.

They sat down. The glowing stove purred. Durtal felt the sudden
relaxation of a chilly soul dipped into a warm bath: at Carhaix's one
was so far from Paris, so remote from the epoch....

The lodge was poor, but cosy, comfortable, cordial. The very table, set
country style, the polished glasses, the covered dish of sweet butter,
the cider pitcher, the somewhat battered lamp casting reflections of
tarnished silver on the great cloth, contributed to the atmosphere of