He was a long way off the end of the carpet yet, when he found himself at the entrance to a pa.s.sage with brilliantly illuminated shops on either side. On his right stood a weighing machine and an automatic figure. Without a moment's hesitation he jumped on the little platform of the weighing machine and slipped a penny in the slot. As he was quite sure that he weighed eleven stone, he could not help smiling when the indicator registered only one. Either the machine has gone wrong, he thought, or I have been transported to some other planet, ten times larger, or ten times smaller than the earth; he had been a pupil at the School of Navigation, you see, and knew something of astronomy.

He jumped off and turned to the automatic figure, eager to find out what it contained; his penny had hardly dropped when a little flap opened and a large, white envelope, sealed with a big, red seal, fell out. He couldn't make out the letters on the seal, but that was neither here nor there, as he did not know who his correspondent was.

He tore open the envelope and read... first of all the signature, just as everybody else does. The letter began... but I'll tell you that later on; it's sufficient for you to know now that he read it three times and then put it into his breast-pocket with a very thoughtful mien; a very thoughtful mien.

Then he penetrated into the heart of the pa.s.sage, all the time keeping carefully in the centre of the carpet. There were all sorts of shops, but not a single human being, either before or behind the counters. When he had walked a little way, he stopped before a big shop window, behind which a great number of sh.e.l.ls and snails were exhibited. As the door stood open, he went in. The walls of the shop were lined with shelves from floor to ceiling and filled with snails collected from all the oceans of the world. n.o.body was in the shop, but a ring of tobacco smoke hung in the air, which looked as if somebody had only just blown it.

Victor, who was a bright lad, put his finger through it. "Hurrah!" he laughed, "now I'm engaged to Miss Tobacco!"

A queer sound, like the ticking of a clock, fell on his ear, but there was no clock anywhere, and presently he discovered that the sound came from a bunch of keys. One of the keys had apparently just been put into the cash-box, and the other keys swung to and fro with the regular movement of a pendulum. This went on for quite a little while. Then there was silence once more, and when it was as still as still could be, a low whistling sound, like the wind blowing through the rigging of a ship, or steam escaping through a narrow tube, could be heard. The sound was made by the snails; but as they were of different sizes, each one of them whistled in a different key; it sounded like a whole orchestra of whistlers. Victor, who was born on a Thursday, and therefore understood the birds' language, p.r.i.c.ked up his ears and tried to catch what they were whistling. It was not long before he understood what they were saying.

"I have the prettiest name," said one of them, "for I am called Strombus pespelica.n.u.s!"

"I'm much the best looking," said the purple-snail, whose name was Murex and something else quaint.

"But I've the best voice," said the tiger-sh.e.l.l; it is called tiger-sh.e.l.l because it looks like a panther.

"Oh! tut, tut!" said the common garden-snail, "I'm more in demand than any other snail in the world; you'll find me all over the flower-beds in the summer, and in the winter I lie in the wood-shed in a cabbage tub.

They call me uninteresting, but they can't do without me."

"What dreadful creatures they are," thought Victor, "they think of nothing but blowing their own trumpets"; and to while away the time he took up a book which lay on the counter. As he had learned to use his eyes, he saw at a glance that it opened at page 240 and that chapter 51 began at the top of the left-hand side, and had for a motto a verse written by Coleridge, the gist of which struck him like a flash of lightning. With burning cheeks and bated breath he read... I'll tell you what he read later on, but I may admit at once that it had nothing whatever to do with snails.

Victor liked the shop and sat down at a little distance from the cash-box, the immediate vicinity of which is never without a certain risk. He began to ponder over all the queer animals which went down to the sea as he did; he was sure that they could not find it too warm at the bottom of the sea and yet they perspired; and whenever they perspired chalk, it immediately became a new house. They wriggled like worms, some to the right and some to the left; it was clear that they had to wriggle in some direction and, of course, they could not all turn to the same side.

All at once a voice came from the other side of the green curtain which separated the shop from the back parlour.

"Yes, we know all that," shouted the voice, "but what we don't know is this: the c.o.c.kle of the ear belongs to the species of the Helix, and the little bones near the drum are exactly like the animal in Limnaeus stagnalis, and that's printed in a book."

Victor, who realised at once that the voice belonged to a thought-reader, shouted back brutally, but without showing the least surprise:--

"We know all that, but why we should have a Helix in our ears is as unknown to the book as to the dealer in snails--"

"I'm not a dealer in snails," bellowed the voice behind the curtain.

"What are you, then?" Victor bellowed back.

"I'm... a troll!"

At the same moment the curtains were drawn aside a little, and a head appeared in the opening of so terrifying an aspect, that anybody but Victor would have taken to his heels. But he, who knew exactly how to treat a troll, looked steadily at the glowing pipe-bowl; for that is exactly what the troll looked like as he stood blowing rings through the parted curtains. When the smoke rings had floated within his reach, he caught them with his fingers and threw them back.

"I see you can play quoits," snarled the troll.

"A little bit," answered Victor.

"And you aren't afraid?"

"A sailor must never be afraid of anything; if he is, the girls won't like him."

And as he was tired of the snails, Victor seized the opportunity to beat a retreat without appearing to run away. He left the shop, walking backwards, for he knew that a man must never show his back to the enemy, because his back is far more sensitive than ever his face could be.

And on he went on the blue and white carpet. The pa.s.sage was not a straight one, but wound and curved so that it was impossible to see the end of it; and still there were new shops, and still no people and no shop proprietors. But Victor, taught by his experience, understood that they were all in the back parlours.

At last he came to a scent shop, which smelt of all the flowers of wood and meadow; he thought of his sweetheart and decided to go in and buy her a bottle of Eau-de-Cologne.

No sooner thought than done. The shop was very much like the snail shop, but the scent of the flowers was so overpowering that it made his head ache, and he had to sit down on a chair. A strong smell of almonds caused a buzzing in his cars, but left a pleasant taste in his mouth, like cherry-wine. Victor, never at a loss, felt in his pocket for his little bra.s.s box, that had a tiny mirror on the inside of the lid, and put a piece of chewing tobacco in his mouth; this cleared his brain and cured his headache. Then he rapped on the counter and shouted:--

"Hallo! Any one there?"

There was no answer. "I'd better go into the back parlour," he thought, "and do my shopping there." He took a little run, put his right hand on the counter and cleared it at a bound. Then he pushed the curtains aside and peeped into the room. A sight met his eyes which completely dazzled him. An orange tree, laden with blossoms and fruit, stood on a long table covered with a Persian rug, and its shining leaves looked like the leaves of a camellia. There were rows of cut-crystal gla.s.ses filled with all the most beautiful scented flowers of the whole world, such as jasmine, tuberoses, violets, lilies of the valley, roses, and lavender.

On one end of the table, half hidden by the orange tree, he saw two delicate white hands and a pair of slender wrists under turned-up sleeves, busy with a small distilling apparatus, made of silver. He did not see the lady's face, and she, too, did not appear to see him. But when he noticed that her dress was green and yellow, he knew at once that she was a sorceress, for the caterpillar of the hawk-moth is green and yellow, and it, too, knows how to bewitch the eye. The lower end of its body looks as if it were its head and has a horn like a unicorn, so that it frightens away its enemies with its mock face, while it feeds in peace with that part of its body which looks like its hind quarter.

"I know that I'll have a bit of a tussle with her," thought Victor, "but I'd better let her begin!" He was quite right, because if one wants to make people talk, one has but to remain silent oneself.

"Are you the gentleman who is looking for a summer resort?" asked the lady, coming towards him.

"That's me!" said Victor, merely in order to say something, for he had never thought of looking for a summer resort in the winter time.

The lady seemed embarra.s.sed, but she was as beautiful as sin, and cast a bewitching glance at the pilot.

"It's no use trying to bewitch me, for I am engaged to a very nice girl," he said, staring between her second and third finger in the manner of a witch, when she wants to charm the judge.

The lady was young and beautiful from the waist upwards, but below the waist she seemed very old; it was just as if she had been patched together of two pieces which didn't match.

"Well, show me the summer resort," said the pilot.

"If you please, sir," replied the lady, opening a door in the background.

They went out and at once found themselves in a wood, consisting entirely of oak trees.

"We'll only just have to cross the wood, and we'll be there," said the lady, beckoning to the pilot to go on, for she did not want to show him her back.

"I shouldn't wonder if there were a bull somewhere about," said the pilot, who had all his wits about him.

"Surely you aren't afraid of a bull?" replied the lady.

"We'll see," answered the pilot.

They walked across stony hillocks, tree-roots, moors and fells, clearings and deep recesses, but Victor could not help turning round every now and then to see whether she was following him, for he could not hear her footsteps. And even when he had turned round and had her right before his eyes he had to look very hard, for her green and yellow dress made her almost invisible.

At last they came to an open s.p.a.ce, and when Victor had reached the centre of the clearing, there was the bull; it was just as if it had stood there all the time waiting for him. It was jet black, with a white star in the middle of its forehead, and the corners of its eyes were blood-red.

Escape was impossible; there was nothing for it but to fight. Victor glanced at the ground and behold! there lay a stout cudgel, newly cut.

He seized it and took up his position.

"You or I!" he shouted. "Come on! One--two--three!" The fight began. The bull backed like a steam-boat, smoke came through its nostrils, it moved its tail like a propeller, and then came on at full speed.

The cudgel flashed through the air and with a sound like a shot hit the bull right between the eyes. Victor sprang aside, and the bull dashed past him. Then everything seemed to change, and Victor, terrified, saw the monster make for the border of the wood, from whence his sweetheart, in a light summer dress, emerged to meet him.

"Climb up the tree, Anna," he shouted. "The bull's coming!" It was a cry of anguish from the very bottom of his soul.