With this Peregrine stretched out his arm far upon the bedclothes.
“Now,” exclaimed the little Invisible, “Now I am quite consoled, quite at ease. If I have no hand to offer you, at least permit me to prick you in the right thumb, partly to testify my extreme satisfaction, and partly to seal our bond of friendship more assuredly.”
At the same moment Peregrine felt in the thumb of his right hand a bite, which smarted so sensibly, as to prove it could have come only from the first Master of all the fleas.
“You bite like a little devil!” cried Peregrine.
“Take it,” replied Master Flea, “as a lively token of my honourable intentions. But it is fit that I should offer to you, as a pledge of my gratitude, a gift which belongs to the most extraordinary productions of art. It is nothing else than a microscope, made by a very dexterous optician of my people, while he was in Leeuwenhoek’s service. The instrument will appear somewhat small to you, for, in reality, it is about a hundred and twenty times smaller than a grain of sand, but its use will not allow of any peculiar greatness. It is this: I place the glass in the pupil of your left eye, and this eye immediately becomes microscopic. As I wish to surprise you with the effect of it, I will say no more about it for the present, and will only entreat that I may be permitted to perform the microscopic operation whenever I see that it will do you any important service. And now sleep well, Mr. Peregrine; you have need of rest.”
Peregrine, in reality, fell asleep, and did not awake till full morning, when he heard the well-known scratching of old Alina’s broom; she was sweeping out the next room. A little child, who was conscious of some mischief, could not tremble more at his mother’s rod than Mr. Peregrine trembled in the fear of the old woman’s reproaches. At length she came in with the coffee. Peregrine glanced at her through the bed-curtains, which he had drawn close, and was not a little surprised at the clear sunshine which overspread the old woman’s face.
“Are you still asleep, my dear Mr. Tyss?” she asked in one of the softest tones of which her voice was capable, and Peregrine, taking courage, answered just as softly,
“No, my dear Alina. Lay the breakfast upon the table; I will get up directly.”
But when he did really rise, it seemed to him as if the sweet breath of the creature, who had lain in his arms, was waving through the chamber, he felt so strangely and so anxiously. He would have given all the world to know what had become of the mystery of his passion, for like this mystery itself, the fair one had appeared and vanished.
While he was in vain endeavouring to drink his coffee and eat his toast—every morsel of which was bitter in his mouth—Alina entered, and busied herself about this and that, murmuring all the time to herself, “Strange! incredible! What things one sees! Who would have thought it?”
Peregrine, whose heart beat so strongly that he could bear it no longer, asked, “What is so strange, dear Alina?”
“All manner of things! All manner of things!” replied the old woman, laughing cunningly, while she went on with her occupation of setting the rooms to rights. Peregrine’s breast was ready to burst, and he involuntarily exclaimed, in a tone of languishing pain, “Ah! Alina!”
“Yes, Mr. Tyss, here I am; what are your commands?” replied Alina, spreading herself out before Peregrine, as if in expectation of his orders.
Peregrine stared at the copper face of the old woman, and all his fears were lost in the disgust which filled him on the sudden. He asked in a tolerably harsh tone:
“What has become of the strange lady who was here yesterday evening? Did you open the door for her? Did you look to a coach for her, as I ordered? Was she taken home?”
“Open doors!” said the old woman with an abominable grin, which she intended for a sly laugh. “Look to a coach! taken home! There was no need of all this: the fair damsel is in the house, and won’t leave the house for the present.”
Peregrine started up in joyful alarm, and she now proceeded to tell him how, when the lady was leaping down the stairs in a way that almost stunned her, Mr. Swammer stood below, at the door of his room, with an immense branch-candlestick in his hand. The old gentleman, with a profusion of bows, contrary to his usual custom, invited the lady into his apartment, and she slipped in without any hesitation, and her host locked and bolted the door.
The conduct of the misanthropic Swammer was too strange for Alina not to listen at the door, and peep a little through the keyhole. She then saw him standing in the middle of the room, and talking so wisely and pathetically to the lady, that she herself had wept, though she had not understood a single word, he having spoken in a foreign language. She could not think otherwise than that the old gentleman had laboured to bring her back to the paths of virtue, for his vehemence had gradually increased, till the damsel at last sank upon her knees and kissed his hand with great humility: she had even
