stretched out at full length and lay peacefully in the full consciousness of the greatness of my Ego. Had the ocean itself moved up on me I would not have batted an eye! Get thee hence, my friend, I wish to be alone.

And the body grew silent, colorless, airy and empty again. With light step I left it and before my eyes there arose a vision of the extraordinary, that which cannot be expressed in your language, my poor friend! Satisfy your curiosity with the dream I have just confided to you and ask no more! Or does not the “huge, sharp corkscrew” suit you? But it is so—artistic!

In the morning I was well again, refreshed and beautiful. I yearned for the play, like an actor who has just left his dressing room. Of course I did not forget to shave. This canaille Wondergood gets overgrown with hair as quickly as his golden skinned pigs. I complained about this to Toppi with whom, while waiting for Magnus, I was walking in the garden. And Toppi, thinking a while, replied philosophically:

“Yes, man sleeps and his beard grows. This is as it should be—for the barbers!”

Magnus appeared. He was no more hospitable than yesterday and his pale face carried unmistakable indications of weariness. But he was calm and polite. How black his beard is in the daytime! He pressed my hand in cold politeness and said: (we were perched on a wall.)

“You are enjoying the Roman Campagna, Mr. Wondergood? A magnificent sight! It is said that the Campagna is noted for its fevers, but there is but one fever it produces in me—the fever of thought!”

Apparently Wondergood did not have much of a liking for nature, and I have not yet managed to develop a taste for earthly landscape: an empty field for me. I cast my eyes politely over the countryside before us and said:

“People interest me more, Signor Magnus.”

He gazed at me intently with his dark eyes and lowering his voice said dryly and with apparent reluctance:

“Just two words about people, Mr. Wondergood. You will soon see my daughter, Maria. She is my three billions. You understand?”

I nodded my head in approval.

“But your California does not produce such gold. Neither does any other country on this dirty earth. It is the gold of the heavens. I am not a believer, Mr. Wondergood, but even I experience some doubts when I meet the gaze of my Maria. Hers are the only hands into which you might without the slightest misgiving place your billions——”

I am an old bachelor and I was overcome with fear, but Magnus continued sternly with a ring of triumph in his voice:

“But she will not accept them, Sir! Her gentle hands must never touch this golden dirt. Her clean eyes will never behold any sight but that of this endless, godless Campagna. Here is her monastery, Mr. Wondergood, and there is but one exit for her from here: into the Kingdom of Heaven, if it does exist!”

“I beg your pardon but I cannot understand this, my dear Magnus!” I protested in great joy. “Life and people——”

The face of Thomas Magnus grew angry, as it did yesterday, and in stern ridicule, he interrupted me:

“And I beg you to grasp, dear Wondergood, that life and people are not for Maria. It is enough that I know them. My duty was to warn you. And now”—he again assumed the attitude of cold politeness—“I ask you to come to my table. You too, Mr. Toppi!”

We had begun to eat, and were chattering of small matters, when Maria entered. The door through which she entered was behind my back. I mistook her soft step for those of the maid carrying the dishes, but I was astonished by the long-nosed Toppi, sitting opposite me. His eyes grew round like circles, his face red, as if he were choking. His Adam’s apple seemed to be lifted above his neck as if driven by a wave, and to disappear again somewhere behind his narrow, ministerial collar. Of course, I thought he was choking to death with a fishbone and shouted:

“Toppi! What is the matter with you? Take some water.”

But Magnus was already on his feet, announcing coldly:

“My daughter, Maria. Mr. Henry Wondergood!”