The same evening, after supper, M. d’Asterac
did not fail to ask me for news of the Salamander.
His curiosity troubled me somewhat. My answer
was that the meeting had surpassed all my expectations,
but that I thought it my duty to confine myself to
a discretion due to such kind of adventures.
“That discretion, my son,” he said, “is
not of so much use in your case as you represent.
Salamanders do not want their amours to be kept secret,
they are not ashamed of them. One of those nymphs
who loves me does not know of a sweeter pastime than
to engrave my initials enlaced with hers on the bark
of trees, as you can see for yourself by examining
the stems of five or six Scotch firs, the exquisite
tops of which you can see from yonder windows.
But have you not, my son, learned that that kind of
amour, truly sublime, far from leaving any fatigue
behind, lends to the heart a new vigour? I am
sure that after what passed to-day you’ll employ
your night in translating at least sixty pages of
Zosimus the Panopolitan.”
I confessed that on the contrary I felt very sleepy,
which he explained by reason of the astonishment produced
by such a first meeting. And so the great man
remained convinced that I had had intercourse with
a Salamander. I felt some scruples at deceiving
him, but I was compelled to do it and, besides, he
deceived himself to such a degree that it was hardly
possible to add anything to his illusions. So
I ascended peacefully to my room, went to bed, and
blew the candle out at the end of the most glorious
day of my life.
CHAPTER XVI
Jahel comes to my Room—What the Abbe saw
on the Stairs—His Encounter with Mosaide.
Jahel kept her word. On the second day after,
she scratched at my door. We were a great deal
more comfortable in my room than we had been in M.
d’Asterac’s study, and what had taken place
at our first meeting was but child’s play in
comparison to what love inspired us at our second
opportunity. She tore herself out of my arms at
the dawn with a thousand oaths to join me again very
soon, calling me her soul, her life, her dearest sweetheart.
That day I rose very late. When I reached the
library, my master was already sitting over the papyrus
of Zosimus, his pen in one hand, his magnifying-glass
in the other, and worthy of the admiration of anyone
having due consideration for good literature.
“Jacques Tournebroche,” he said to me,
“the principal difficulty of this reading consists
in not a few of the letters being easily confounded
with others, and it is important for the success of
the deciphering to make a list of the characters lending
themselves to similar mistakes, because by not taking
such precautions we are running the risk of employing
the wrong terminations, to our eternal shame and just
vituperation. I have to-day already committed
some ridiculous blunders. It must have been because,
since daybreak, my mind has been troubled by what
I saw last night, and of which I will give you an
account.
Copyrights
The Queen Pedauque from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
