“A musty lot.”
“I think they are the finest people in the world—spirits almost more than men. Think of their uplifted vigils, night after night, while we are sleeping earthbound.”
“Shall I be an astronomer, then, to please you?”
“You will please me by being yourself, by following your own particular star. You know, Felix—yes, you do, that the real ecstasy is in the pursuit, into whatever pains and difficulties it may lead you. I want to see you great, and greatness is all in endeavour, because there can never be achievement.”
“M’amie,” I said very gravely, “what have I done to bring upon myself this lecture?”
“You have done nothing.”
“Ah! I see—that is it. You think me idle.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, perhaps I am. And so you take this accident of Carabas Cabarus, with his goats and golden bubbles, to belabour me for my sins.”
“He set me thinking, Felix; I admit it. And there is something in this place, too, that makes me think.”