“Well, upon my word, this is wonderful, wonderful!” said Marguerite, kneeling and stroking the back of the stuffed chicken.
“Ay, and I am filled with wonder at myself for having invented such a thing,” continued Abel. “But it only shows what the brain of man can do. And yet what man is able to accomplish now is nothing compared with what he will accomplish in the ages to come.”
“Well, what is needed, sir, to make this Magic Nest perfect? It seems to me to be in good working order.”
“Nothing remains to be done but to get a live hen and put it to the proof; though I have no more doubt of its success than I have of my own existence.”
“Well, do let me be present when you make the trial. Will you?”
“Yes, you may come, for you do not laugh and jeer at me like the rest of the world; and, moreover, there is something soothing in your presence. Oh! I believe if I had had you always by my side this Magic Nest would have been ready long ago.”
“And when I come again,” said Marguerite a little timidly, “I’ll put the room in order—may I?”
Here Abel’s brow lowered; but quickly the dark look passed away, for she was gazing so sweetly at him, and he said: “You perceive, then, that it is not in order? Well, you are right. I live all by myself and have no time to sweep and dust—no time.”
“All by yourself!” repeated Marguerite compassionately.
“Yes; and when evening comes round I light my candle and play at solitaire, and listen to the cats caterwauling on the roof.”