The other was less familiar--he knew me only in my public capacity--he
was one Gallais of the Quartier St. Médon. He said, taking off his hat:
'If I were M. le Maire, saving your respect, I would not go out into an
unknown danger with this man here, a man who is known as a pietist, as a
clerical, as one who sees visions--'

'He is not a clerical, he is a good citizen,' I said; 'come, lend us
your lantern. Shall I shrink from my duty wherever it leads me? Nay, my
good friends, the Maire of a French commune fears neither man nor devil
in the exercise of his duty. M. Paul, lead on.' When I said the word
'devil' a spasm of alarm passed over Riou's face. He crossed himself
again. This time I could not but smile. 'My little Riou,' I said, 'do
you know that you are a little imbecile with your piety? There is a time
for everything.'

'Except religion, M. le Maire; that is never out of place,' said
Gallais.

I could not believe my senses. 'Is it a conversion?' I said. 'Some of
our Carmes déchaussés must have passed this way.'

'M. le Maire will soon see other teachers more wonderful than the Carmes
déchaussés,' said Lecamus. He went and took down the lantern from its
nail, and opened the little door. When it opened, I was once more
penetrated by the same icy breath; once, twice, thrice, I cannot tell
how many times this crossed me, as if some one passed. I looked round
upon the others--I gave way a step. I could not help it. In spite of me,
the hair seemed to rise erect on my head. The two officers stood close
together, and Riou, collecting his courage, made an attempt to laugh.