The philosopher began to laugh, and said Friar Ange had not seen the wise man’s Salamander. When the Nymphs of the fire meet with a Capuchin they turn their back on him. “Oh! Oh!” said my father, bursting out laughing, “the back of a Nymph is still too good for a Capuchin.” And being in a good humour, he sent a mighty slice of the pie to the little friar. My mother placed the roast in the middle of the table, and took advantage of it to ask if the Salamanders are good Christians, of which she had her doubts, as she had never heard that the inhabitants of fire praised the Lord. “Madam,” replied my teacher, “several theologians of the Society of Jesus have recognised the existence of a people of incubus and succubus who are not properly demons, because they do not let themselves be routed by an aspersion of holy water and who do not belong to the Church Triumphant; glorified spirits would never have attempted, as has been the case at Perouse, to seduce the wife of a baker. But if you wish for my opinion, they are rather the dirty imaginations of a sneak than the views of a doctor. “You must hate and bewail that sons of the Church, born in light, could conceive of the world and of God a less sublime idea than that formed by a Plato or a Cicero in the night of ignorance and of paganism. God is less absent, I dare say, from the Dream of Scipio than from those black tractates of demonology the authors of which call themselves Christians and Catholics.” “Sir,” replied the priest, “I found a very old MS. of Cicero spoke with effluence and facility, but he was but a commonplace intellect, and not very learned in holy sciences. Have you ever heard of Hermes Trismegistus and of the Emerald Table?” “Sir,” replied the priest, “I found a very old MS. of the Emerald Table in the library of the Bishop of Séez, and I should have marvelled over it one day or another, but for the chamber-maid of the bailiff’s lady who went to Paris to make her fortune and who made me ride in the coach with her. There was no witchcraft used, Sir Philospher, and I only succumbed to natural charms: ‘Non facit hoc verbis; facie tenerisque lacertis Devovet et flavis nostra puella comis.’” “That’s a new proof,” said the philosopher, “women are great enemies of science, and the wise man ought to keep himself aloof from them.” “In legitimate marriage also?” inquired my father. “Especially in legitimate marriage,” replied the philosopher. “Alas!” my father continued to question, “what remains to your poor wise men when they feel disposed for a little fun?” The philosopher replied: “There remains for them the Salamanders.” At these words Friar Ange raised a frightened nose over his plate and murmured: