Prosper's face went gray, like the mortar in the trough. His fists
clenched and the cords on his neck stood out as if they were ropes.
He breathed hard. But he only said three words:

"No! Not here."

"Not here? Why not? There is room. The cure is away. Why not
here?"

"It is the house of LE BON DIEU. Can we build it in hate?"

"POLISSON! You make an excuse. Then come to Girard's, and fight
there."

Again Prosper held in for a moment, and spoke three words:

"No! Not now."

"Not now? But when, you heart of a hare? Will you sneak out of it
until you turn gray and die? When will you fight, little musk-rat?"

"When I have forgotten. When I am no more your friend."

Prosper picked up his trowel and went into the tower. Raoul bad-
worded him and every stone of his building from foundation to
cornice, and then went down the road to get a bottle of cognac.

An hour later he came back breathing out threatenings and slaughter,
strongly flavoured with raw spirits. Prosper was working quietly on