For the last few moments I had been dancing about with a sort of little steps, and more or less musical sounds, which were meant to translate my thought. My uncle pursued the train of his. Without remarking that his cloudy brow must be hiding some stormy conflict of interests and passions, and dominated by the imminence of a catastrophe which he alone could ward off, I redoubled entreaties. “Yes, I understand your desire, Nicolas,” said my uncle. “You want to give back your brain to its former envelope, which would thus be saved, since you have made Jupiter’s brain an impossibility. Well, so be it!” “Oh, save him, save him,” cried Emma, who had only grasped that one word. “Save him! I swear to you, Frédéric, I swear never to see him again.” “Enough, enough,” said Lerne. “On the contrary you must love him with all your strength. I no longer wish to grieve you. Why struggle against destiny?” He summoned his assistants, and gave them some brief orders. Karl and Wilhelm seized the Minotaur, who was moaning. Johann had set off to make preparations, as hard as he could. “Schnell, schnell!” said the Professor, and he added, “Quick, Nicolas, follow us!” I obeyed, my mind half filled with the joy at recovering my body, and half filled with fear lest it should die before the operation. * * * * * _The operation was a great success._ However, deprived of the attentions which should have preceded the administration of the anesthetic, and which the urgency of the case did not allow them to give us, I lived an instructive but painful dream under the influence of ether. It lasted, perhaps a quarter of a second--just enough to let me feel the tooth of some scratchy saw, or the edge of some badly sharpened lancet. The sunset was filling the wash-house with a rosy half-light. Through my lowered eyelids I perceived my mustache. _This was the resurrection of Nicolas Vermont._ It was also the end of Jupiter. They were carving up, at the end of the room, that black mass in which I had sojourned. In the courtyard the dogs were quarreling for the first bits that Johann had flung to them. My bones were aching. Lerne was watching by my side. He was quite joyful, as well he might be. Was he not at peace with his conscience? Had he not atoned for his wrongs to me? How could I feel rancor towards him? It even seemed to me that I owed him a certain debt of gratitude. So true is it, that nothing seems so great a benefit as the reparation of a wrong done. CHAPTER XII LERNE CHANGES HIS METHOD OF ATTACK When I was in the black hide of the bull, I had sworn to myself, if my original shape were ever restored to me, to flee away at once, with or without Emma; and yet the autumn was growing old, and I had not yet left Fonval. The fact was, my treatment was now the exact reverse of what it had been. To begin with, I disposed of my time as I liked.