and beauty," he said, "these are created by desire. As a
stone-cutter desires what is hidden in the rock, and hews it out and
loves the thing he shapes, though it be as ugly as a gargoyle, because
of the desire that brought it forth--"

"Do you think that I'm a gargoyle?" queried Susette hastily.

"Certainly not."

"Then, why did you call me one?"

So he had to console her again, and took a certain joy in it, although
she protracted the dear, silly dispute by telling him that he had
chained her to him simply so that he could torture her, and that he had
wanted to spare the princess such suffering, and that therefore it was
clear that he loved the princess more.

"Why, no," said Gaspard; "as for that, she's really in love with that
young Sieur de Macon."

But thereupon Susette wanted to know how he came to be so well informed
as to the contents of the lady's heart. So the smith gave over any
attempt to reason, except in the silences of his brain; and just
confined his outer activities to cooings and caresses, as Susette would
have him do.

Yet his thought would persist.

That was the trail of a great truth he had almost stated back there,
about the place held by desire in the origins of love and beauty. He had
watched a certain Italian named Botticelli do a mural painting in the
duke's private chapel. Lord, there was a passion! He had helped in the
building of the cathedral at Sens. Lord, what fervor the builders put
into their work! They were all like young lovers.

The smith sat up. It was almost as if he had cornered that glinting moth
of doubt.

Yes, they had been like young lovers--Sieur Botticelli, in pursuit of
the beautiful; the church-builders in pursuit of God. But--and here was
the point--what if their desire had been satisfied? The quest would have
stopped. The vision of the artist would have faded. The steeple would
have fallen down. For desire would have ceased to exist.

"I'm hungry and I'm thirsty," said Susette.

He kissed her pensively. They started home.

IV.

"Gaspard! Gaspard!"

The smith sat up swiftly on his couch.

"What's the matter?" he demanded.

All the same, in spite of certain disquieting dreams, it struck him as
sweet and curious to be awakened like that by Susette. But he perceived
that she was alarmed.

"Some one hammers at the door," she said.

Then he heard it himself, that thing he had already been hearing
obscurely in his sleep.

"Coming!" he yelled. And