Oliver Haddo’s story was received with astonished silence. No one could assert that it was untrue, but he told it with a grandiloquence that carried no conviction. Arthur would have wagered a considerable sum that there was no word of truth in it. He had never met a person of this kind before, and could not understand what pleasure there might be in the elaborate invention of improbable adventures. “You are evidently very brave,” he said. “To follow a wounded lion into thick cover is probably the most dangerous proceeding in the world,” said Haddo calmly. “It calls for the utmost coolness and for iron nerve.” The answer had an odd effect on Arthur. He gave Haddo a rapid glance, and was seized suddenly with uncontrollable laughter. He leaned back in his chair and roared. His hilarity affected the others, and they broke into peal upon peal of laughter. Oliver watched them gravely. He seemed neither disconcerted nor surprised. When Arthur recovered himself, he found Haddo’s singular eyes fixed on him. “Your laughter reminds me of the crackling of thorns under a pot,” he said. Haddo looked round at the others. Though his gaze preserved its fixity, his lips broke into a queer, sardonic smile. “It must be plain even to the feeblest intelligence that a man can only command the elementary spirits if he is without fear. A capricious mind can never rule the sylphs, nor a fickle disposition the undines.” Arthur stared at him with amazement. He did not know what on earth the man was talking about. Haddo paid no heed. “But if the adept is active, pliant, and strong, the whole world will be at his command. He will pass through the storm and no rain shall fall upon his head. The wind will not displace a single fold of his garment. He will go through fire and not be burned.” Dr Porhoët ventured upon an explanation of these cryptic utterances.