"Stranger and stranger, my boy. Someone here is composing, with much citation of texts, a dissertation on the Gorgon Islands: de Gorgonum insulis. Medusa, according to him, was a Libyan savage who lived near Lake Triton, our present Chott Melhrir, and it is there that Perseus ... Ah!"
Morhange's words choked in his throat. A sharp, shrill voice pierced the immense room.
"Gentlemen, I beg you, let my papers alone."
I turned toward the newcomer.
One of the Caramani curtains was drawn aside, and the
most unexpected of persons came in. Resigned as we were to unexpected events, the improbability of this sight exceeded anything our imaginations could have devised.
On the threshold stood a little bald-headed man with a pointed sallow face half hidden by an enormous pair of green spectacles and a pepper and salt beard. No shirt was visible, but an impressive broad red cravat. He wore white trousers. Red leather slippers furnished the only Oriental suggestion of his costume.
He wore, not without pride, the rosette of an officer of the Department of Education.
He collected the papers which Morhange had dropped in his amazement, counted them, arranged them; then, casting a peevish glance at us, he struck a copper gong.
The portiére was raised again. A huge white Targa entered. I seemed to recognize him as one of the genii of the cave.[[8]]