ssy stone, the lower half of which lay in a
bright brook, Peregrine sate down with a firm resolution to reflect on
his strange adventures, and, if possible, find the Ariadne clue which
might show the way out of this labyrinth of mysteries. The murmurs of
the leaves, returning at equal intervals, the monotonous babbling of
the waters, the constant clap, clap of a distant mill, soon formed a
ground which regulated the thoughts so that they no longer rushed
wildly together without time or rhythmus, but became an intelligible
melody. Thus, after sitting some time on this pleasant spot, he got to
reflect calmly.

"In reality," he said to himself, "a fantastic tale-writer could not
have invented wilder events than I have actually gone through in the
short space of a few days. Beauty, love itself visits the lonely
mysogunist, and a look, a word, is sufficient to fan, in his breast,
the flames which he had dreaded without knowing them. But the time, the
place, the whole appearance of the strange syren are so mysterious,
that it seems to be the result of magic;--And then it is not long
before a despised little insect evinces knowledge, understanding, nay,
even a sort of supernatural power. And this creature talks of things,
which to common minds are incomprehensible, in a way as if it all were
nothing more than the familiar to-day and yesterday of usual life, as
it appears repeated for the thousandth time.

"Have I come too near the fly-wheel, that dark unknown powers are
driving, and has it caught me in its whirlings? Would not one believe,
that the reason must be lost with such things, when they cross the path
of life? And yet I find myself quite well, withal: nay, it no longer
seems strange to me that a Flea-king should have sought my protection,
and, in requital have entrusted me with a mystery that opens to me the
secrets of thought, and thus sets me above the deceptions of life. But
whither will or can all this lead? How, if under this singular mask of
a flea, an evil demon lurked, who sought to lure me into destruction,
who aimed to rob me of all the happiness that might bloom to me in the
possession of Doertje? Were it not better to get rid at once of the
little monster?"

"That was a very pitiful idea, Mr. Tyss!" exclaimed Master Flea,
interrupting Peregrine's soliloquy. "Do you imagine that the mystery I
have entrusted to you is a trifle? Should not this gift pass for the
most decided proof of my sincere friendship?