"Cristi, boys, it blows!" He shook himself, threw his heavy outer
garments on a chair, and extinguished his lantern. "There were blinding
clouds of snow whirling in between the sounding-shutters. I can hardly
see. Dog's weather. The lady has gone to bed? Good. But you haven't
drunk your coffee?" he asked as he saw Durtal filling the glasses.

Carhaix went up to the stove and poked the fire, then dried his eyes,
which the bitter cold had filled with tears, and drank a great draught
of coffee.

"Now. That hits the spot. How far had you got with your lecture, Des
Hermies?"

"I finished the rapid expose of Satanism, but I haven't yet spoken of
the genuine monster, the only real master that exists at the present
time, that defrocked abbé--"

"Oh!" exclaimed Carhaix. "Take care. The mere name of that man brings
disaster."

"Bah! Canon Docre--to utter his ineffable name--can do nothing to us. I
confess I cannot understand why he should inspire any terror. But never
mind. I should like for Durtal, before we hunt up the canon, to see your
friend Gévingey, who seems to be best and most intimately acquainted
with him. A conversation with Gévingey would considerably amplify my
contributions to the study of Satanism, especially as regards venefices
and succubacy. Let's see. Would you mind if we invited him here to
dine?"