'Now that you have admired every thing in detail, my dear colleague in antiquarian lore,' said my host to me, 'let us have, if you please, a little scientific conference. What say you to this inscription, which you have not yet noticed?'
He pointed to the pedestal of the statue, where I read these words:
CAVE AMANTEM.
'What do you say to that, most learned?' demanded he, rubbing his hands. 'Let us see if we can agree upon the meaning of this cave amantem.'
'But,' said I, 'there are two senses in which it may be understood. It may be translated 'Beware of him who loves you; do not trust lovers.' But in this sense I hardly know whether cave amantem would be good Latin. On looking at the diabolical expression of the lady, I should rather think the artist wished to put the spectator on his guard against this terrible beauty. I would therefore prefer translating it: 'Take care of yourself, if she loves you.''
'Humph!' said Monsieur Peyrade; 'to be sure that meaning is admissible; but with due deference I prefer the first translation, which however I will develop a little. You remember the lover of Venus?'
'She had a great many.'
'True, but the first one was Vulcan. Now does not this mean to say: 'In spite of all your beauty, and your proud and disdainful looks, you shall have a blacksmith, a miserable lame wretch for a lover.' A profound lesson, Sir, for coquettes!'
I could scarcely repress a smile at this far-fetched explanation.