talk to my hump-backed gardener Gibbus, or listen to what he says. When
he is sitting with the rest of our people in an evening, they all laugh
as soon as he opens his mouth.--And why? Because his conformation makes
him utter nothing but paradoxes.--You know what they are?"

"Certainly."

"And you, Pul?"

"No, Father."

"You are too straight-nay, and so is your simple soul, to know what the
thing is! Well, listen then: It would be a paradox, for instance, if I
were to say to the Bishop as he marches past in procession: 'You are
godless out of sheer piety;' or if I were to say to Paula, by way of
excuse for all the flattery which I and your mother offered her just now:
'Our incense was nauseous for very sweetness.'--These paradoxes, when
examined, are truths in a crooked form, and so they best suit the
deformed. Do you understand?"

"Certainly," said Paula.

"And you, Pul?"

"I am not quite sure. I should be better pleased to be simply told: "We
ought not to have made such flattering speeches; they may vex a young
girl."

"Very good, my straightforward child," laughed her father. "But look,
there is the man! Here, good Gibbus--come here!--Now, just consider: