He sees Apollon and Aphrodite alive on their marble.
He remembers him of your story. He wish himself a statue. Then
he becomes mad imagines to himself that your story of the island
is true, plunges in the lake, swims among the beasts of the Ark of
Noe, feeds with gods on an island. At dawn the madness become
less. He think the Pantheon vanish. But him, no he thinks himself
statue, hiding from gardeners in his garden till nine less a quarter.
Then he thinks to wish himself no more a statue and perceives that
he is flesh and blood. A bad dream, but he has lost the head with
the tales you tell. He say it is no dream but he is fool mad how you
say? And a mad man must not marry. There is no hope. I am at
despair! And the life is vain!"
"There is," said Gerald earnestly. "I assure you there is hope, I
mean. And life's as right as rain really. And there's nothing to
despair about. He's not mad, and it's not a dream. It's magic. It
really and truly is."
"The magic exists not," Mademoiselle moaned; "it is that he is
mad. It is the joy to re-see me after so many days. Oh,
la-la-la-la-la!"
"Did he talk to the gods?" Gerald asked gently.
"It is there the most mad of all his ideas. He say that Mercure give
him rendezvous at some temple tomorrow when the moon raise
herself."
"Right," cried Gerald, "righto! Dear nice, kind, pretty
Mademoiselle Rapunzel, don't be a silly little duffer" he lost
himself for a moment among the consoling endearments he was
accustomed to offer to Kathleen in moments of grief and emotion,
but hastily added: "I mean, do not be a lady who weeps
causelessly.
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