“But,” I rejoined, “I see a little hole in the arm. I believe that it was made to fasten something to—a bracelet, perhaps, which this Myron presented to Venus as an expiatory offering.—Myron was an unsuccessful lover; Venus was irritated with him and he appeased her by consecrating a gold bracelet to her. Observe that fecit is very often used in the sense of consecravit; they are synonymous terms. I could show you more than one example of what I say if I had Gruter or Orellius at hand. It would be quite natural for a lover to see Venus in a dream and to fancy that she ordered him to give a gold bracelet to her statue. So Myron consecrated a bracelet to her; then the barbarians, or some sacrilegious thief——”
“Ah! it is easy to see that you have written novels!” cried my host, giving me his hand to help me descend. “No, monsieur, it is a work of the school of Myron. Look at the workmanship simply and you will agree.”
Having made it a rule never to contradict outright an obstinate antiquarian, I hung my head with the air of one fully persuaded, saying:
“It’s an admirable thing.”
“Ah! mon Dieu!” cried M. de Peyrehorade; “still another piece of vandalism! Somebody must have thrown a stone at my statue!”
He had just discovered a white mark a little above Venus’s breast. I observed a similar mark across the fingers of the right hand, which I then supposed had been grazed by the stone; or else that a fragment of the stone had been broken off by the blow and had bounded against the hand. I told my host about the insult that I had witnessed, and the speedy retribution that had followed. He laughed heartily, and, comparing the apprentice to Diomedes, expressed a hope that, like the Grecian hero, he might see all his companions transformed into birds.
The breakfast bell interrupted this classical conversation, and I was again obliged, as on the preceding day, to eat for four. Then M. de Peyrehorade’s farmers appeared; and while he gave audience to them, his son took me to see a calèche which he had bought at Toulouse for his fiancée, and which I admired, it is needless to say. Then I went with him into the stable, where he kept me half an hour, boasting of his horses, giving me their genealogies, and telling me of the prizes they had won at various races in the province. At last he reached the subject of his future wife, by a natural transition from a gray mare he intended for her.
“We shall see her to-day,” he said. “I do not know whether you will think her pretty; but everybody here and at Perpignan considers her charming. The best thing about her is that she’s very rich. Her aunt at Prades left her all her property. Oh! I am going to be very happy.”
I was intensely disgusted to see a young man more touched by the dowry than by the beaux yeux of his betrothed.
“You know something about jewels,” continued M. Alphonse; “what do you think of this one? This is the ring that I am going to give her to-morrow.”