“It is a fact,” he continued, “_Turbulnera_ is pure Phœnician; _Tur_, pronounced _Tour_--_Tour_ and _Sour_ are the same word, are they not? _Sour_ is the Phœnician name of Tyre; I do not need to remind you of its meaning. _Bul_ is Baal; Bal, Bel, Bul--slight differences in pronunciation. As for _nera_--that gives me a little trouble. I am inclined to believe, failing to find a Phœnician word, that it comes from the Greek word νηρός, damp, swampy. In that case the word would be a hybrid. To justify my suggestion of νηρός, I will show you that at Boulternère the streams from the mountain form miasmatic pools. On the other hand, the termination _nera_ may have been added much later, in honour of Nera Pivesuvia, wife of Tetricus, who may have had some property in the city of Turbul. But on account of the pools I prefer the etymology from νηρός.” And he took a pinch of snuff with a self-satisfied air. “But let us leave the Phœnicians and return to the inscription. I translate then: ‘To Venus of Boulternère, Myron, at her command, dedicates this statue, his work.’” I had no idea of criticising his etymology, but I did desire to exhibit some little penetration on my own part; so I said to him: “Stop there a moment, monsieur. Myron dedicated something, but I see nothing to indicate that it was this statue.” “What!” he cried, “was not Myron a famous Greek sculptor? The talent probably was handed down in the family; it was one of his descendants who executed this statue. Nothing can be more certain.” “But,” I rejoined, “I see a little hole in the arm. I believe that it was made to fasten something to--a bracelet, perhaps, which this Myron presented to Venus as an expiatory offering.--Myron was an unsuccessful lover; Venus was irritated with him and he appeased her by consecrating a gold bracelet to her. Observe that _fecit_ is very often used in the sense of _consecravit_; they are synonymous terms. I could show you more than one example of what I say if I had Gruter or Orellius at hand. It would be quite natural for a lover to see Venus in a dream and to fancy that she ordered him to give a gold bracelet to her statue. So Myron consecrated a bracelet to her; then the barbarians, or some sacrilegious thief----” “Ah! it is easy to see that you have written novels!” cried my host, giving me his hand to help me descend. “No, monsieur, it is a work of the school of Myron. Look at the workmanship simply and you will agree.” Having made it a rule never to contradict outright an obstinate antiquarian, I hung my head with the air of one fully persuaded, saying: “It’s an admirable thing.” “Ah! mon Dieu!” cried M. de Peyrehorade; “still another piece of vandalism! Somebody must have thrown a stone at my statue!”