Anna awoke and found herself in bed, she had dreamed a dream. But who was this Jarpeado of whom her father constantly spoke? She hastened to ask the old professor. It was necessary to be careful, she must watch, and after breakfast seize one of his lucid intervals; for in his normal condition, her father’s mind was absent exploring the fathomless depths of science. Seated at the breakfast table she exclaimed— “Father!”—just as the professor was putting a spoonful of salt into his coffee—“what are you thinking about?” “Well, Anna, dear, I was investigating the subject of monads, or rather the nature of these simple inorganic forms, twelve months before birth, and I come to the conclusion that”—— “That my dear father, if you succeed in introducing one of these ridiculous creatures to the scientists of Paris, you will both be decorated. But who, tell me, is this Prince Jarpeado?” [Illustration] “Prince Jarpeado is the last of the dynasty of the Cactriane,” replied the worthy professor, who employed allegory in addressing his daughter, forgetful that her mind had matured, and she had ceased to play with dolls; “a large country, basking in the sun’s rays, and {274} having a longitude and latitude—matters these you do not comprehend. The country is populous as China, and like that unhappy land, subject to periodical inundations, not of cold water, but of hot water, let loose by the hand of man. This depopulates the land, but nature has so provided that a single prince may alone repair the damage. This reminds me of something I discovered ten years ago in connection with Infusoria, the Rotafera of Cuvier, they”—— “Yes. But the prince, the prince!” cried Anna, fearing lest her father should fall into a reverie and she would hear nothing more. “The prince,” replied the old professor, giving a touch to his wig, “escaped—thanks to the French Government—from the destroying flood, and he has been brought up without consulting his future, away from his fair realm. He was transported in his undeveloped form to my illustrious predecessor Sacrampe—the inventor of Ducks. “Jarpeado came here at the request of the Government on a bed of dust, made up of millions of his father’s subjects, embalmed by the Indians of Gualaca, not one of the nymphs of Rubens, not one of Miéris’ pretty girls has been able to dispense with the mummies of this race. Yes, my child, whole populations deck the lips which smile upon or defy you from each canvas. How would you like the freak of some giant painter who would take generations of human beings on his palette, crushing them to produce the colours of an immense fresco? Heaven forbid that it should be so!” Here the professor fell into a profound reverie as was his wont after uttering the word heaven.