“The Cardinal cried more loudly, ’Out of my sight before I call for assistance!’

“Johannes rose and left.

“‘All my old ties are broken,’ he said, as he parted from me.  He was so sad that I had not the heart to question him further.”

There was a silence.  Carhaix went up to his tower to ring a peal.  His wife removed the dessert dishes and the cloth.  Des Hermies prepared the coffee.  Durtal, pensive, rolled his cigarette.

Carhaix, when he returned, as if enveloped in a fog of sounds, exclaimed, “A while ago, Des Hermies, you were speaking of the Franciscans.  Do you know that that order, to live up to its professions of poverty, was supposed not to possess even a bell?  True, this rule has been relaxed somewhat.  It was too severe!  Now they have a bell, but only one.”

“Just like most other abbeys, then.”

“No, because all communities have at least three, in honour of the holy and triple Hypostasis.”

“Do you mean to say that the number of bells a monastery or church can have is limited by rule?”

“Formerly it was.  There was a pious hierarchy of ringing:  the bells of a convent could not sound when the bells of a church pealed.  They were the vassals, and, respectful and submissive as became their rank, they were silent when the Suzerain spoke to the multitudes.  These principles of procedure, consecrated, in 1590, by a canon of the Council of Toulouse and confirmed by two decrees of the Congress of Rites, are no longer followed.  The rulings of San Carlo Borromeo, who decreed that a church should have from five to seven bells, a boy’s academy three, and a parochial school two, are abolished.  Today churches have more or fewer bells as they are more or less rich....  Oh, well, why worry?  Where are the little glasses?”

His wife brought them, shook hands with the guests, and retired.

Then while Carhaix was pouring the cognac, Des Hermies said in a low voice, “I did not want to speak before her, because these matters distress and frighten her, but I received a singular visit this morning from Gevingey, who is running over to Lyons to see Dr. Johannes.  He claims to have been bewitched by Canon Docre, who, it seems, is making a flying visit to Paris.  What have been their relations?  I don’t know.  Anyway, Gevingey is in a deplorable state.”

“Just what seems to be the matter with him?” asked Durtal.

“I positively do not know.  I made a careful auscultation and examined him thoroughly.  He complains of needles pricking him around the heart.  I observed nervous trouble and nothing else.  What I am most worried about is a state of enfeeblement inexplicable in a man who is neither cancerous nor diabetical.”

“Ah,” said Carhaix, “I suppose people are not betwitched now with wax images and needles, with the ‘Manei’ or the ‘Dagyde’ as it was called in the good old days.”

“No, those practises are now out of date and almost everywhere fallen into disuse.  Gevingey who took me completely into his confidence this morning, told me what extraordinary recipes the frightful canon uses.  These are, it seems, the unrevealed secrets of modern magic.”