For the last few moments I had been dancing about with a sort of little steps, and more or less musical sounds, which were meant to translate my thought. My uncle pursued the train of his.
Without remarking that his cloudy brow must be hiding some stormy conflict of interests and passions, and dominated by the imminence of a catastrophe which he alone could ward off, I redoubled entreaties.
“Yes, I understand your desire, Nicolas,” said my uncle. “You want to give back your brain to its former envelope, which would thus be saved, since you have made Jupiter’s brain an impossibility. Well, so be it!”
“Oh, save him, save him,” cried Emma, who had only grasped that one word. “Save him! I swear to you, Frédéric, I swear never to see him again.”
“Enough, enough,” said Lerne. “On the contrary you must love him with all your strength. I no longer wish to grieve you. Why struggle against destiny?”
He summoned his assistants, and gave them some brief orders. Karl and Wilhelm seized the Minotaur, who was moaning.
Johann had set off to make preparations, as hard as he could.
“Schnell, schnell!” said the Professor, and he added, “Quick, Nicolas, follow us!”
I obeyed, my mind half filled with the joy at recovering my body, and half filled with fear lest it should die before the operation.