By standing close to the railing, which was like the well curb of the Pit, one could see down, down, to the foundation.

The "well" seemed to be undergoing repairs, and from the top to the bottom of the tube the beams supporting the bells were crisscrossed with timbers bracing the walls.
"Don't be afraid to lean over," said Carhaix.

"Now tell me, monsieur, how do you like my foster children ?" But Durtal was hardly heeding.

He felt uneasy, here in space, and as if drawn toward the gaping chasm, whence ascended, from time to time, the desultory clanging of the bell, which was still swaying and would be some time in returning to immobility.
He recoiled.
"Wouldn't you like to pay a visit to the top of the tower ?" asked Carhaix, pointing to an iron stair sealed into the wall.
"No, another day." They descended and Carhaix, in silence, opened a door.

They advanced into an immense storeroom, containing colossal broken statues of saints, scaly and dilapidated apostles, Saint Matthew legless and armless, Saint Luke escorted by a fragmentary ox, Saint Mark lacking a shoulder and part of his beard, Saint Peter holding up an arm from which the hand holding the keys was broken off.
"There used to be a swing in here," said Carhaix, "for the little girls of the neighbourhood.