“Silvela, in the old days you used to be considerably wrapped up in the study of plant life. Are you still interested?”
“Somewhat,” he replied, and then his eyes narrowed craftily. “I exhausted the interesting possibilities of most of the known plants of the world a number of years ago. Lately I have found ‘the light that lies in women’s eyes’ a subject of greater interest.”
I could have strangled him where he sat; but a lifetime of trouble has taught me to conceal my feelings. I betrayed no emotion.
“I’ll venture that there is one plant which you have never studied at first hand.”
“What is that?” he asked, with mild curiosity.
“A plant,” I continued, “found only in the most inaccessible places of the earth. Probably it could be seen only in the wildest parts of Sumatra or Australia, and then scarcely once in a lifetime.”
He was now thoroughly aroused.
“What is the family of this wonderful shrub?” he asked. “I have a dim recollection of having heard of it. Let me see—isn’t it called—”
“The devil tree by the natives, by others the octopus plant,” I broke in. “But I have heard that the name is somewhat of a misnomer. It is said that it is rather a tree of heaven, for it distills a rare and delicious nectar which has a wonderful rejuvenating power. At the same time it intoxicates in a strange and mysterious manner, causing him who drinks to revel in celestial visions of love and radiant beauty. Instead of leaving one depressed, as is the case with alcohol, it is said that the impression lingers, the face grows younger, and he who sips is actually loved by any of the female sex whose eyes look upon him. Indeed, I have heard that if our countryman, Ponce de Leon, had gone to the South Seas instead of to Florida, he would have really discovered the fountain of youth for which he sought.”
I looked at Silvela. His eyes were sparkling, and he was breathing quickly; I knew I had found his weak point. His was a dreamy, half-superstitious nature, and my words appealed to him strongly.