und in the passage."

"Who took them there?"

"I'm bothered if I know."

And the young man rushed off to the dining-room, the luncheon gong
having sounded quite a minute ago.

Monsieur Sariette tore away to the summer-house. Maurice had spoken the
truth. About a hundred volumes were there, on tables, on chairs, even on
the floor. When he saw them he was divided betwixt joy and fear, filled
with amazement and anxiety. Happy in the finding of his lost treasure,
dreading to lose it again, and completely overwhelmed with astonishment,
the man of books alternately babbled like an infant and uttered the
hoarse cries of a maniac. He recognised his Hebrew Bibles, his ancient
Talmuds, his very old manuscript of Flavius Josephus, his portfolios of
Gassendi's letters to Gabriel Naude, and his richest jewel of all, to
wit, _Lucretius_ adorned with the arms of the Grand Prior of France, and
with notes in Voltaire's own hand. He laughed, he cried, he kissed the
morocco, the calf, the parchment, and vellum, even the wooden boards
studded with nails.

As fast as Hippolyte, the manservant, returned with an armful to the
library, Monsieur Sariette, with a trembling hand, restored them piously
to their places.

CHAPTER VII

OF A SOMEWHAT LIVELY INTEREST, WHEREOF THE MORAL WILL, I
HOPE, APPEAL GREATLY TO MY READERS, SINCE IT CAN BE
EXPRESSED BY THIS SORROWFUL QUERY: "THOUGHT, WHITHER DOST
THOU LEAD ME?" FOR IT IS A UNIVERSALLY ADMITTED TRUTH THAT
IT IS UNHEALTHY TO THINK AND THAT TRUE WISDOM LIES IN NOT
THINKING AT ALL

All the books were now once more assembled in the pious keeping of
Monsieur Sariette. But this happy reunion was not destined to last. The
following night twenty volumes left their places, among them the
_Lucretius_ of Prior de Vendome. Within a week the old Hebrew and Greek
texts had all returned to the summer-house, and every night during the
ensuing month they left their shelves and secretly went on the same
path. Others betook themselves no one knew whither.

On hearing of these mysterious occurrences, Monsieur Rene d'Esparvieu
merely remarked with frigidity to his librarian:

"My poor Sariette, all this is very queer, very queer indeed."

And when Monsieur Sariette tentatively advised him to lodge a formal
complaint or to inform the Commissaire de Police, Monsieur d'Esparvieu
cried out upon him:

"What are you suggesting, Monsieur Sariette? Divulge domestic secrets,