sufficiently know that. But we teach them."

And we immersed ourselves in an unfathomable depth of deliciousness.

After that the divine Jahel asked of me:

"Have you a comb? I look like a witch."

"Jahel," I answered, "I have no comb. I had expected a Salamander. I
adore you."

"Adore me, dearest, but remain secret. You do not know Mosaide."

"What, Jahel. Is he still so terrible as that, at the age of one
hundred and thirty years, of which he has lived sixty-five inside a
pyramid?"

"I see, my friend, that stories of my uncle have been told you and
that you were simple enough to believe them. Nobody knows his age; I
myself am ignorant of it, but I have always known him as an old man.
I know only that he is robust and of uncommon strength. He has been
a banker at Lisbon, where he killed a Christian he surprised in the
arms of my Aunt Myriam. He took to flight, and carried me with him.
Since then he loves me with the tenderness of a mother. He tells me
things that are told to little children only, and he cries when he
sees me asleep."

"Do you live with him?"

"Yes, in the keeper's lodge, at the other end of the park."