the Middle Ages shut up till death in a damp, airless, pitch-dark
_in-pace_.

The eyes were blue, prominent, even bulging, and had the mystic's
readiness to tears, but their expression was singularly contradicted by
the truculent Kaiser Wilhelm moustache. The man seemed at once a dreamer
and a fighter, and it would have been difficult to tell which character
predominated.

He gave the bell stirrup a last yank with his foot and with a heave of
his loins regained his equilibrium. He mopped his brow and smiled down
at Des Hermies.

"Well! well!" he said, "you here."

He descended, and when he learned Durtal's name his face brightened and
the two shook hands cordially.

"We have been expecting you a long time, monsieur. Our friend here
speaks of you at great length, and we have been asking him why he didn't
bring you around to see us. But come," he said eagerly, "I must conduct
you on a tour of inspection about my little domain. I have read your
books and I know a man like you can't help falling in love with my
bells. But we must go higher if we are really to see them."

And he bounded up a staircase, while Des Hermies pushed Durtal along in
front of him in a way that made retreat impossible.

As he was once more groping along the winding stairs, Durtal asked, "Why
didn't you tell me your friend Carhaix--for of course that's who he