“Besides,” thought I, “all roads lead back to Europe (for my particular benefit), and I will not hurry me towards the coast of France. This worthy animal may allow itself to be caught in the seas of Europe (for my particular benefit), and I will not bring back less than half a yard of his ivory halberd to the Museum of Natural History.” But in the meanwhile I must seek this narwhal in the North Pacific Ocean, which, to return to France, was taking the road to the antipodes. “Conseil,” I called in an impatient voice. Conseil was my servant, a true, devoted Flemish boy, who had accompanied me in all my travels. I liked him, and he returned the liking well. He was phlegmatic by nature, regular from principle, zealous from habit, evincing little disturbance at the different surprises of life, very quick with his hands, and apt at any service required of him; and, despite his name, never giving advice—even when asked for it. Conseil had followed me for the last ten years wherever science led. Never once did he complain of the length or fatigue of a journey, never make an objection to pack his portmanteau for whatever country it might be, or however far away, whether China or Congo. Besides all this, he had good health, which defied all sickness, and solid muscles, but no nerves; good morals are understood. This boy was thirty years old, and his age to that of his master as fifteen to twenty. May I be excused for saying that I was forty years old? But Conseil had one fault: he was ceremonious to a degree, and would never speak to me but in the third person, which was sometimes provoking. “Conseil,” said I again, beginning with feverish hands to make preparations for my departure. Certainly I was sure of this devoted boy. As a rule, I never asked him if it were convenient for him or not to follow me in my travels; but this time the expedition in question might be prolonged, and the enterprise might be hazardous in pursuit of an animal capable of sinking a frigate as easily as a nutshell. Here there was matter for reflection even to the most impassive man in the world. What would Conseil say? “Conseil,” I called a third time. Conseil appeared. “Did you call, sir?” said he, entering. “Yes, my boy; make preparations for me and yourself too. We leave in two hours.” “As you please, sir,” replied Conseil, quietly. “Not an instant to lose;—lock in my trunk all travelling utensils, coats, shirts, and stockings—without counting, as many as you can, and make haste.” “And your collections, sir?” observed Conseil. “We will think of them by and by.” “What! the archiotherium, the hyracotherium, the oreodons, the cheropotamus, and the other skins?” “They will keep them at the hotel.” “And your live Babiroussa, sir?” “They will feed it during our absence; besides, I will give orders to forward our menagerie to France.” “We are not returning to Paris, then?” said Conseil. “Oh! certainly,” I answered, evasively, “by making a curve.”