smoking. Bouvard kept in
the background, and Pecuchet, turning his back to him, cast handfuls of
sulphur into the fireplace.

Before invoking a corpse the consent of the demons is required. Now,
this day being a Friday--a day which is assigned to Bechet--they should
occupy themselves with Bechet first of all.

Bouvard, having bowed to the right and to the left, bent his chin, and
raised his arms, began:

"In the names of Ethaniel, Anazin, Ischyros----"

He forgot the rest.

Pecuchet rapidly breathed forth the words, which had been jotted down on
a piece of pasteboard:

"Ischyros, Athanatos, Adonai, Sadai, Eloy, Messiasoes" (the litany was a
long one), "I implore thee, I look to thee, I command thee, O Bechet!"

Then, lowering his voice:

"Where art thou, Bechet? Bechet! Bechet! Bechet!"

Bouvard sank into the armchair, and he was very pleased at not seeing
Bechet, a certain instinct reproaching him with making an experiment
which was a kind of sacrilege.

Where was his father's soul? Could it hear him? What if, all at once, it
were about to appear?

The curtains slowly moved under the wind, which made its way in through
a cracked pane of glass, and the wax-tapers caused shadows to oscillate
above the corpse's skull and also above the painted face. An earthy
colour made them equally brown. The cheek-bones were consumed by
mouldiness, the eyes no longer possessed any lustre; but a flame shone
above them in the eyeholes of the empty skull. It seemed sometimes to
take the other's place, to rest on the collar of the frock-coat, to have
a beard on it; and the canvas, half unfastened, swayed and palpitated.

Little by little they felt, as it were, the sensation of being touched
by a breath, the approach of an impalpable being. Drops of sweat
moistened Pecuchet's forehead, and Bouvard began to gnash his teeth: a
cramp gripped his epigastrium; the floor, like a wave, seemed to flow
under his heels; the sulphur burning in the chimney fell down in
spirals. At the same moment bats flitted about. A cry arose. Who was it?

And their faces under their hoods presented such a distorted aspect
that, gazing at each other, they were becoming more frightened than
before, not venturing either to move or to speak, when behind the door
they heard groans like those of a soul in torture.

At length they ran the risk. It was their old housekeeper, who, espying
them through a slit in the partition, imagined she saw the devil, and,