ppocrates
is a dream; Urania is a dream; Hermes, a thought. Gold is the sun; to
make gold is to be God. Herein lies the one and only science. I have
sounded the depths of medicine and astrology, I tell you! Naught,
nothingness! The human body, shadows! the planets, shadows!"

And he fell back in his armchair in a commanding and inspired attitude.
Gossip Touraugeau watched him in silence. Coictier tried to grin,
shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly, and repeated in a low voice,--

"A madman!"

"And," said Tourangeau suddenly, "the wondrous result,--have you
attained it, have you made gold?"

"If I had made it," replied the archdeacon, articulating his words
slowly, like a man who is reflecting, "the king of France would be named
Claude and not Louis."

The stranger frowned.

"What am I saying?" resumed Dom Claude, with a smile of disdain. "What
would the throne of France be to me when I could rebuild the empire of
the Orient?"

"Very good!" said the stranger.

"Oh, the poor fool!" murmured Coictier.

The archdeacon went on, appearing to reply now only to his thoughts,--

"But no, I am still crawling; I am scratching my face and knees against
the pebbles of the subterranean pathway. I catch a glimpse, I do not
contemplate! I do not read, I spell out!"

"And when you know how to read!" demanded the stranger, "will you make
gold?"

"Who doubts it?" said the archdeacon.

"In that case Our Lady knows that I am greatly in need of money, and I
should much desire to read in your books. Tell me, reverend master, is
your science inimical or displeasing to Our Lady?"

"Whose archdeacon I am?" Dom Claude contented himself with replying,
with tranquil hauteur.

"That is true, my master. Well! will it please you to initiate me? Let
me spell with you."

Claude assumed the majestic and pontifical attitude of a Samuel.

"Old man, it requires longer years than remain to you, to undertake this
voyage across mysterious things. Your head is very gray! One comes forth
from the cavern only with white hair, but only those with dark hair
enter it. Science alone knows well how to hollow, wither, and dry up
human faces; she needs not to have old age bring her faces already
furrowed. Nevertheless, if the desire possesses you of putting yourself
under discipline at your age, and of deciphering the formidable alphabet
of the sages, come to me; 'tis well, I will make the effort. I will not
tell you, poor old man, to go and visit