Meantime Granoux still rang the tocsin. When, in other respects, silence
had again fallen upon the town, the mournfulness of that ringing became
intolerable. Rougon, who was in a high fever, felt exasperated by its
distant wailing. He hastened to the cathedral, and found the door open.
The beadle was on the threshold.
"Ah! that's quite enough!" he shouted to the man; "anybody would think
there was some one crying; it's quite unbearable."
"But it isn't me, sir," replied the beadle in a distressed manner. "It's
Monsieur Granoux, he's gone up into the steeple. I must tell you that I
removed the clapper of the bell, by his Reverence's order, precisely
to prevent the tocsin from being sounded. But Monsieur Granoux wouldn't
listen to reason. He climbed up, and I've no idea what he can be making
that noise with."
Thereupon Rougon hastily ascended the staircase which led to the bells,
shouting: "That will do! That will do! For goodness' sake leave off!"
When he had reached the top he caught sight of Granoux, by the light
of the moon which glided through an embrasure; the ex almond dealer was
standing there hatless, and dealing furious blows with a heavy hammer.
He did so with a right good will. He first threw himself back, then took
a spring, and finally fell upon the sonorous bronze as if he wanted
to crack it. One might have thought he was a blacksmith striking hot
iron--but a frock-coated blacksmith, short and bald, working in a wild
and awkward way.
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