Thewinesparkledinhiseyesandthebellsjingled。MyownfancygrewwarmwiththeMedoc。Wehadpassedthroughwallsofpiledbones，withcasksandpuncheonsintermingling，intotheinmostrecessesofthecatacombs。Ipausedagain，andthistimeImadeboldtoseizeFortunatobyanarmabovetheelbow。

　　“Thenitre！”Isaid：“see，itincreases。Ithangslikemossuponthevaults。Wearebelowtheriver’sbed。Thedropsofmoisturetrickleamongthebones。Come，wewillgobackereitistoolate。Yourcough“

　　“Itisnothing。”hesaid；“letusgoon。Butfirst，anotherdraughtoftheMedoc。”

　　Ibrokeandreachedhimafla鏾nofDeGr鈜e。Heemptieditatabreath。Hiseyesflashedwithafiercelight。HelaughedandthrewthebottleupwardswithagesticulationIdidnotunderstand。

　　Ilookedathiminsurprise。Herepeatedthemovement-agrotesqueone。

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