“Tall trees—that is not Iceland. And what do you remember of the journey to Italy?”
“Absolutely nothing. I believe my companion, or companions, were strangers to me when we set out.”
“Well, go on with your story.”
“That is, I will begin it, Monsieur Goefle; for, so far, I have only been telling you the mysterious circumstances with which, as the poets say, my cradle was surrounded. I will begin with the first clearly-defined recollection in my mind. This is—pray do not be scandalized—an ass.”
“An ass? A quadruped or a biped?”
“A real ass with four legs; a flesh-and-blood ass. He was the favorite animal of Sophia Goffredi for riding, and was called Nino, the diminutive of Giovanni. I was so fond of him, that I have called the one I now use to carry my baggage by the name of Jean, in remembrance of him who was the joy of my early childhood.”
“Ah, you have an ass? It must have been he who visited me last evening.”
“And it was you who had him put in the stable?”
“Exactly. You seem to love asses.”
“Fraternally. Indeed, I have been thinking for a quarter of an hour that mine has, perhaps, not had his breakfast. Ulph will be afraid of him. Perhaps he has driven him out of the chateau. The poor fellow may be wandering about in the ice and snow at this very moment, awakening the insensible echoes with his plaintive voice. I beg pardon, Monsieur Goefle, but I must leave you for a moment and look after my ass.”