“It is an Arabic word, of which I do not know the meaning; but no doubt Paracelsus would tell us.”
“The word,” said I, “is neither Arabic nor Hebrew, nor, indeed, of any language at all. It is a contraction which conceals two other words.”
“Can you tell us what they are?” said the chevalier.
“Certainly; aro comes from aroma, and ph is the initial of philosophorum.”
“Did you get that out of Paracelsus?” said Farsetti, evidently annoyed.
“No, sir; I saw it in Boerhaave.”
“That’s good,” said he, sarcastically; “Boerhaave says nothing of the sort, but I like a man who quotes readily.”
“Laugh, sir, if you like,” said I, proudly, “but here is the test of what I say; accept the wager if you dare. I don’t quote falsely, like persons who talk of words being Arabic.”
So saying I flung a purse of gold on the table, but Farsetti, who was by no means sure of what he was saying, answered disdainfully that he never betted.
However, Mdlle. X. C. V., enjoying his confusion, told him that was the best way never to lose, and began to joke him on his Arabic derivation. But, for my part, I replaced my purse in my pocket, and on some trifling pretext went out and sent my servant to Madame d’Urfe’s to get me Boerhaave.