"It is a rush, a rotten twig, a broomstraw, against the insidious weapons of the Master Philologist. But keep it if you like, my dear, and give it to your next Prince Consort. I am ashamed to have trifled with such toys," says Jurgen, in fretted disgust. "And besides, the Master Philologist assures me I shall mount far higher through the aid of this."
"But what is on that bit of parchment?"
"Thirty-two of the Master Philologist's own words that I begged of him. See, my dear, he made this cantrap for me with his own hand and ink." And Jurgen read from the parchment, impressively: "'At the death of Adrian the Fifth, Pedro Juliani, who should be named John the Twentieth, was through an error in the reckoning elevated to the papal chair as John the Twenty-first.'"
Said Anaïtis, blankly: "And is that all?"
"Why, yes: and surely thirty-two whole words should be enough for the most exacting."
"But is it magic? are you certain it is authentic magic?"
"I have learned that there is always magic in words."
"Now, if you ask my opinion, Jurgen, your cantrap is nonsense, and can never be of any earthly use to anybody. Without boasting, dear, I have handled a great deal of black magic in my day, but I never encountered a spell at all like this."
"None the less, my darling, it is evidently a cantrap, for else the
Master Philologist would never have given it to me."
"But how are you to use it, pray?"