M. d'Asterac, in a red damask gown, carrying a silver candlestick.
He put, as he habitually did, his hand on my shoulder.

"Hello! my son," he said, "are you not very happy, having broken off
all intercourse with women, and by that escaped all dangers of bad
company? With the august maidens of the air you need not be in fear
of quarrels, scuffles, injurious and violent rows which usually
occur with creatures following a loose life. In your solitude, which
delights the fairies, you enjoy a delicious peace."

I thought at first that he mocked me. But I soon found out that
nothing was further from his thoughts.

"I am pleased to have met you, my son," he continued, "and will
thank you to come with me to my studio for a moment."

I followed him. He unlocked, with a key nearly an ell long, that
confounded room where I had seen the glare of infernal fires. When
we were inside the laboratory he asked me to kindly make up the
smouldering fire. I threw some short logs into the furnace, where I
don't know what was steaming, exhaling a suffocating odour. While he
was occupied with his black cookery, cupellating and matrassing, I
remained seated on a settle, and, against my will, closed my eyes.
He made me reopen them to admire a green earthenware vessel, with a
glass top, which he had in his hand.

"You ought to know, my son," he said, "that this subliming pot is
called aludel. It contains a liquid to be looked at with the
greatest attention, as it is nothing less than the mercury of the
philosophers. Do not suppose that it is to keep its present dark