Carhaix scratched his head, then emptied the ashes of his pipe on his
thumbnail.

"Well, you see, the fact is, we have had a slight disagreement."

"What about?"

"Oh, nothing very serious. I interrupted his experiments here one day.
But pour yourself some liqueur, Monsieur Durtal, and you, Des Hermies,
why, you aren't drinking at all," and while, lighting their cigarettes,
both sipped a few drops of almost proof cognac, Carhaix resumed,
"Gévingey, who, though an astrologer, is a good Christian and an honest
man--whom, indeed, I should be glad to see again--wished to consult my
bells.

"That surprises you, but it's so. Bells formerly played quite an
important part in the forbidden science. The art of predicting the
future with their sounds is one of the least known and most disused
branches of the occult. Gévingey had dug up some documents, and wished
to verify them in the tower."

"Why, what did he do?"

"How do I know? He stood under the bell, at the risk of breaking his
bones--a man of his age on the scaffolding there! He was halfway into
the bell, the bell like a great hat, you see, coming clear down over his
hips. And he soliloquized aloud and listened to the repercussions of his
voice making the bronze vibrate.

"He spoke to me also of the interpretation of dreams about bells.