"How absurd these birds are!" he said at length, coming back to the fire.
"You have no more to tell me?" asked the Father.
"No. I am still aware of the presence of something in my house. I am still conscious of its close attention to me. I am still irritated, seriously annoyed—I confess it,—by that attention."
"You say you are aware of the presence of something at this moment?"
"At this moment—yes."
"Do you mean in this room, with us, now?"
"I should say so—at any rate, quite near us."
Again he glanced quickly, almost suspiciously, towards the cage of the parrot. The bird was sitting still on its perch now. Its head was bent down and cocked sideways, and it appeared to be listening attentively to something.
"That bird will have the intonations of my voice more correctly than ever by to-morrow morning," said the Father, watching Guildea closely with his mild blue eyes. "And it has always imitated me very cleverly."
The Professor started slightly.