"Between the Indus and Oregon--there in the old library I discovered at last the long-looked for Manuscript. There I found the whole story." "What was it?" "There it was stated in purest High-Bramaputric, that--translate all that into our modern notions and expressions----" "Yes, for Heaven's sake do so, or I won't understand a word." "That there were, from the beginning, two pairs of human beings created; as it could not well be otherwise: the one noble and the other not noble. The name of this first noble race is not recorded in the Manuscript. At the very place where it once stood, there is now a big blot. So much is certain, it was not Oldenburg; it began with a C, and somewhere in the middle there was a t." "Perhaps Cloten," said the other. "It may be, but I cannot swear to it. Nor is it said what family his wife belonged to; she is simply called a noble damsel." "But I thought she was made from the rib of man?" "Why, you would not believe that stupid nonsense, Cloten? She is expressly called a noble damsel, and so she must have been of noble blood." "But that is a curiously complicated story." "Not so very complicated as you imagine. Enough, the noble gentleman and the noble damsel, who soon became a noble lady, had a villa, which was called Paradise--why should not a villa be called Paradise, Cloten?" "Nevertheless, very curious name." "Why? Does not one call his place Solitude, another Sans Souci, and still another Bellevue--why should not one of them have called his Paradise? _Eh bien!_ The nobleman's servant was called Adam. Good name for a man-servant. When he became old and stiff, they called him old Adam--have you ever heard of a noble who was called Adam, Cloten?" "Never in my life." "You see there is the best proof at once. He called his servant Adam, and his wife's chambermaid Eve--little Evy, very nice name for a maid. My mother had a charming little maid, and her name was Evy. But Adam was a bad fellow, just as our servants nowadays are bad fellows. And Eva was no better. At last the old gentleman took his riding-whip and drove both from the place. In their deportment-book he wrote: Dismissed on account of dishonesty, fondness of dress, and laziness. That is the story, of course only in the outline." "Really, very remarkable, quite famous! 'pon honor! Did you bring the book home with you, baron?" "No; but an authenticated copy, endorsed by the justice of the peace of the place." "Are there justices of the peace out there?" "But, my dear friend, how could there be a country and no justices?" "To be sure. Still, it would be better if we had the book itself." "Perhaps we can get it. The monks are wretchedly obstinate. I had a great mind to poison them all with prussic acid. I shall probably do it yet, if I ever get to that district again. Until then, we must be satisfied with a copy."