The mandarin now opened his wooden chest and drew forth the Great Book of Magic he had stolen from Haot-sai. Turning the pages slowly he came to a passage describing “How to understand the language of butterflies.” This he read carefully and then mixed a magic formula in a tin cup and drank it down with a wry face. Immediately thereafter he spoke to the butterfly in its own language, saying: “Why did you enter this room?” “I smelled bees-wax,” answered the butterfly; “therefore I thought I might find honey here.” “But you are my prisoner,” said the mandarin. “If I please I can kill you, or leave you on the wall to starve to death.” “I expect that,” replied the butterfly, with a sigh. “But my race is shortlived, anyway; it doesn’t matter whether death comes sooner or later.” “Yet you like to live, do you not?” asked the mandarin. “Yet; life is pleasant and the world is beautiful. I do not seek death.” “Then,” said the mandarin, “I will give you life—a long and pleasant life—if you will promise to obey me for a time and carry out my instructions.” “How can a butterfly serve a man?” asked the creature, in surprise. “Usually they cannot,” was the reply. “But I have a book of magic which teaches me strange things. Do you promise?” “Oh, yes; I promise,” answered the butterfly; “for even as your slave I will get some enjoyment out of life, while should you kill me—that is the end of everything!” “Truly,” said the mandarin, “butterflies have no souls, and therefore cannot live again.” “But I have enjoyed three lives already,” returned the butterfly, with some pride. “I have been a caterpillar and a chrysalis before I became a butterfly. You were never anything but a Chinaman, although I admit your life is longer than mine.” “I will extend your life for many days, if you will obey me,” declared the Chinaman. “I can easily do so by means of my magic.” “Of course I will obey you,” said the butterfly, carelessly. “Then, listen! You know children, do you not?—boys and girls?” “Yes, I know them. They chase me, and try to catch me, as you have done,” replied the butterfly. “And they mock me, and jeer at me through the window,” continued the mandarin, bitterly. “Therefore, they are your enemies and mine! But with your aid and the help of the magic book we shall have a fine revenge for their insults.” “I don’t care much for revenge,” said the butterfly. “They are but children, and ’tis natural they should wish to catch such a beautiful creature as I am.” “Nevertheless, I care! and you must obey me,” retorted the mandarin, harshly. “I, at least, will have my revenge.” Then he stuck a drop of molasses upon the wall beside the butterfly’s head and said: “Eat that, while I read my book and prepare my magic formula.” So the butterfly feasted upon the molasses and the mandarin studied his book, after which he began to mix a magic compound in the tin cup. When the mixture was ready he released the butterfly from the wall and said to it: