"I remember that my back ached terribly afterwards," said I laughing.
"Ah, but the ease and comfort in your soul! Perhaps there's nothing much the matter with yours yet, is there?"
"I think it's all right," I answered.
"Something must be wrong with mine," he remarked meditatively, "because at a crisis in my life I haven't had an inspiration. It is sluggish. I want a soul pill."
This time it was I who had an inspiration—one of terrifying audacity.
"Master, perhaps absinthe isn't good for it," said I all in a breath.
"Infant Solomon," replied Paragot ironically, "where have you gathered such a store of wisdom? Have you a scrap of paper in your pocket?"
"Yes, Master," said I, producing a sketch-book and preparing to tear out a leaf. He stopped my hand.
"Leave it in. All the better. As I am sure you don't remember the passage from Cicero's De Natura Deorum which I quoted to you some time ago, since you are unacquainted with the Latin tongue, I will dictate it to you, and you can learn it by heart and say it like a Pater or an Ave morning and evening."
I wrote down at his dictation the passage concerning the impossibility of judging between the false and true. And that is how I was able to set it down in its proper place in a previous chapter.