"Yes, my friend, the Lusiad of the immortal Camoëns, nothing more or less."
"Camoëns!" repeated Glenarvan; "but, unfortunate friend, Camoëns was a Portuguese! It is Portuguese that you have been studying for six weeks."
"Camoëns! Lusiad! Portuguese!"
Paganel could say no more. His eyes wandered, while a peal of Homeric laughter rang in his ears.
The Patagonian did not wink; he waited patiently for the explanation of this event, which was totally incomprehensible to him.
"Insensate! fool!" cried Paganel, at last. "What! is it so? Is it not a mere joke? Have I done this? It is the confusion of languages, as at Babel. My friends! my friends! to start for India and arrive at Chili! to learn Spanish and speak Portuguese! this is too much, and, if it continues, I shall some day throw myself out of the window instead of my cigar."
To hear Paganel take his blunder thus, to see his comical actions, it was impossible to keep serious. Besides, he set the example himself.
"Laugh, my friends," said he, "laugh with a will! you cannot laugh as much as I do at myself."
And he uttered the most formidable peal of laughter that ever issued from the mouth of a geographer.