"Because I was firmly convinced that there must be, somewhere in the convents of Armenia, in the catacombs of Egypt, or elsewhere in the East, a Manuscript which explains the matter. When I had learnt to speak all these languages as fluently as French and German, I began three years ago my great journey to the East. In passing through Italy I searched all the libraries there. In Rome I met the Barnewitz party. This meeting was very disagreeable to me, to tell the truth. I had to accompany them to Sicily, as a matter of politeness. But in Palermo I escaped as soon as I could." "Ah, that explains your sudden disappearance--the 'Interrupted Sacrifice,' great opera, and so forth." "'Interrupted Sacrifice?' You never recollected that expression, Cloten?" "No--'pon honor--an invention of Hortense's; I mean of the Baroness Barnewitz," the young man corrected himself. "She insists upon it--_entre nous_, baron--that your meeting in Rome was not quite so accidental on your part, and the whole journey from Rome to Palermo--is not that the name of the place--was a perfect triumph for the Berkow; Sacrifice--'Interrupted Sacrifice.' Ha, ha, ha!" "But I do not understand you, Cloten?" "Well, _entre nous_, Hortense has a good deal to say about that journey. For instance, a scene during the passage from Ciproda----" "Procida, you mean," said Oldenburg. "Procida, I don't care which. I can't remember all those absurd names. Well, from Procida to Naples." "Well?" "But, really, baron, you put the thumb-screws on too tightly. You had a little fisher-boat, and there came a real storm--the waves were as high as houses, and you were expecting the boat to capsize every moment. Then you said in Italian----" "The Barnewitz does not understand a word of Italian, as far as I know," said Oldenburg. "Not Hortense, but the boatmen, who told her afterwards." "Then," growled Oldenburg, "she examined them. Well!" "Then you said to the Berkow: Dear soul, to be drowned with you is worth more than to live a hundred years with your cousin, or any other woman!" "Indeed! Does Hortense tell her friends such pretty stories? Well, Cloten, I'll give you a piece of advice: Believe in every kiss that you have had from Hortense's lips, or that you are going to have----" "Ah, nonsense, baron!" said the dandy, with that smile which is meant to be modest, and which is so horribly impudent. "But do not believe a single word she utters. Can you really think that I should have had nothing better to do than to court Melitta von Berkow, when such grave, yes, such almost holy things filled my soul? Let me tell you: I went from Sicily to Egypt, then up the Nile to Aboo Simbul, back to Cairo, from there to Palestine, Persia, India--examined every temple, every ruin, every crevice in the rocks. I did not find what I looked for. At last--I was almost desperate--in the library of the great monastery on Mount Athos----" "Where is that, Baron?"