The perfume of Gorgonzola and Stracchino was pervading the table. The waiter was bringing in wax-candles to each of which was attached the _abbrustolatoio_[H] wherewith to light the long cigars with straws, so dear to Italians. [H] _Abbrustolatoio_--apparatus attached to the candle; it has two rings through which the cigar is placed, and left to burn awhile. Hippolyte Dufresne, who for some time past seemed to have remained indifferent to the conversation, here remarked in a low tone tinged with an ostentatious modesty: “Gentlemen, our friend Langelier was asserting just now that many men are afraid of disgracing themselves in the eyes of their contemporaries by assuming the horrible immorality which is to be the morality of the future. I do not entertain a like fear, and I have written a little tale, which has perhaps no other merit than the one of revealing my calmness of mind when considering the future. I shall one day crave permission to read it to you.” “Read it right away,” said Boni, lighting his cigar. “You will be giving us pleasure,” added Joséphin Leclerc, Nicole Langelier, and M. Goubin. “I am not sure whether I have the manuscript with me,” replied Hippolyte Dufresne. With these words, he drew out of his pocket a roll of paper, and began to read what follows. V THROUGH THE HORN OR THE IVORY GATE “It was about one o’clock in the morning. Before retiring for the night, I opened the window and lit a cigarette. The hum of a motor-car scudding along the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne broke the reigning silence. The trees were freshening the atmosphere by the swaying of their darkened tops. No buzzing insect, no living sound arose from the sterile soil of the city. The night was resplendent with stars. Their fires seemed, in the clearness of the air, more so than on other nights, of varied lines. The greater number blazed at white heat. Some there were, however, yellow and orange-tinted, similar to the flames of dying lamps. Several were blue, and I saw one of so pale a blue, so limpid, and so soft, that I could not avert my gaze from it. I regret being ignorant of its name, but I console myself with the thought that men do not give the stars their true names.