"By all means."
"With that we must run along and give you a chance to get to bed, seeing that you have to be up at dawn."
"Oh, at half-past five for the six o'clock angelus, and then, if I want to, I can go back to bed, for I don't have to ring again till a quarter to eight, and then all I have to do is sound a couple of times for the curate's mass. As you can see, I have a pretty easy thing of it."
"Mmmm!" exclaimed Durtal, "if I had to get up so early!"
"It's all a matter of habit. But before you go won't you have another little drink? No? Really? Well, good night!"
He lighted his lantern, and in single file, shivering, they descended the glacial, pitch-dark, winding stair.
[!-- Page 69 --]CHAPTER VI]
Next morning Durtal woke later than usual. Before he opened his eyes there was a sudden flash of light in his brain, and troops of demon worshippers, like the societies of which Des Hermies had spoken, went defiling past him, dancing a saraband. "A swarm of lady acrobats hanging head downward from trapezes and praying with joined feet!" he said, yawning. He looked at the window. The panes were flowered with crystal fleurs de lys and frost ferns. Then he quickly drew his arms back under the covers and snuggled up luxuriously.
"A fine day to stay at home and work," he said. "I will get up and light a fire. Come now, a little courage—" and—instead of tossing the covers aside he drew them up around his chin.