"The nitre!" I said: "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the

vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle

among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough--"

"It is nothing," he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of

the Medoc."

I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grâve. He emptied it at a breath.

His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle

upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.

I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement--a grotesque one.

You do not comprehend?" he said.

Not I," I replied.

Then you are not of the brotherhood."

How?"

You are not of the masons."

198

The Works of Edgar Allan Poe - Volume 2