"My lord, he says nothing, except an occasional word to his valet.
As for what he does, he is forever shut up in his laboratory."
"Laboratory? What sort of a laboratory?"
"A room which, immediately after his return, he had fitted up like a great kitchen. When the alterations had been made, he went to Turin, and came home with the entire contents of an apothecary shop, with which the shelves of his laboratory are filled. I helped him to place his jars and phials, but much against my will, for he calls me ugly names."
Barbesieur laughed. "Do tell me what he calls you?"
"My lord, you may laugh, but you would not like to answer to the name of 'Basilisk.'"
"To be sure, 'Floweret' would be much more appropriate to your style of beauty, Carlotta; but let that pass, and go on with your narrative. What is Strozzi about, in this laboratory?"
"How do I know, my lord? He cooks and evaporates his messes; then runs to his table and reads in some mouldy old parchments; then hurries back to the chimney and stirs his pipkins—then back to the table—and so on, all day long."
"But, my angelic Carlotta, if nobody is allowed to enter the laboratory, how came you to be so admirably posted as to Strozzi's movements?"
Carlotta looked perplexed. "My lord, there is a little hole in the door that leads out to the corridor, and sometimes I have thought it but right to watch our dear lord, that he might do himself no harm."
"Which means that you bored a hole in the door by way of observatory. Nay—do not deny it; I respect your thirst for knowledge. Does he never leave his laboratory?"