CHAPTER X.
In the beginning of July Gabriel began his nocturnal watch in the Cathedral.
At nightfall he went down into the cloister, and at the Puerta del Mollete, joined the other watchman, a sickly-looking man who coughed as badly as Luna, and who never left off his cloak even in the height of summer.
"Come along, we are going to lock up!" said the bell-ringer, rattling his bunch of keys.
After the two men had entered the church, he locked the doors from outside and walked away.
As the days were long, there still remained two hours of daylight after the watchmen entered the Cathedral.
"All the church is ours, companion," said the other watchman.
And like a man used to the imposing appearance of the deserted church, he settled himself comfortably in the sacristy as in his own house, opening his supper basket on the chests, and spreading out his eatables between candelabras and crucifixes.
Gabriel wandered about the fane.

After many nights of watching, the impression produced when he first saw the immense church deserted and locked up had not yet faded.

His footsteps resounded on the pavement, his strides shortened by the tombs of prelates and great men of former days.

The silence of the church was disturbed by the strange echoes and mysterious rustlings; the first day Gabriel had often turned his head in alarm, thinking he heard footsteps following him.
Outside the church the sun was still shining, the coloured wheel of the rose window above the great doorway glowed like a luminous flower-bed; below, among the pillars, the light seemed overcome by the darkness; the bats began to descend, and with their wings made the dust fall from the shafts in the vaulting.

They fluttered round about the pillars, circling as in a forest of stone; in their blind flight they often struck the cords of the hanging lamps, or shook the old red hats with dusty and ragged tassels that hung high above the cardinals' tombs.
Gabriel made his rounds throughout the church.