Manuel said, “You are that woman, Niafer.”
Niafer replied nothing, but Niafer smiled. Niafer raised one shoulder a little, rubbing it against Manuel’s broad chest, but Niafer still kept silence. So the two young people regarded each other for a while, not speaking, and to every appearance not valuing Miramon Lluagor and his encompassing enchantments at a straw’s worth, nor valuing anything save each other.
“All things are changed for me,” says Manuel, presently, in a hushed voice, “and for the rest of time I live in a world wherein Niafer differs from all other persons.”
“My dearest,” Niafer replied, “there is no sparkling queen nor polished princess anywhere but the woman’s heart in her would be jumping with joy to have you looking at her twice, and I am only a servant girl!”
“But certainly,” said the rasping voice of Gisèle, “Niafer is my suitably disguised heathen waiting-woman, to whom my husband sent a dream some while ago, with instructions to join me here, so that I might have somebody to look after my things. So, Niafer, since you were fetched to wait on me, do you stop pawing at that young pig-tender, and tell me what is this I hear about your remarkable cleverness!”
Instead, it was Manuel who proudly told of the shrewd devices through which Niafer had passed the serpents and the other terrors of sleep. And the while that the tall boy was boasting, Miramon Lluagor smiled, and Gisèle looked very hard at Niafer: for Miramon and his wife both knew that the cleverness of Niafer was as far to seek as her good looks, and that the dream which Miramon had sent had carefully instructed Niafer as to these devices.
“Therefore, Madame Gisèle,” says Manuel, in conclusion, “I will give you Flamberge, and Miramon and Vraidex, and all the rest of earth to boot, in exchange for the most wonderful and clever woman in the world.”
And with a flourish, Manuel handed over the charmed sword Flamberge to the Count’s lovely daughter, and he took the hand of the swart, flat-faced servant girl.
“Come now,” says Miramon, in a sad flurry, “this is an imposing performance. I need not say it arouses in me the most delightful sort of surprise and all other appropriate emotions. But as touches your own interests, Manuel, do you think your behavior is quite sensible?”
Tall Manuel looked down upon him with a sort of scornful pity. “Yes, Miramon: for I am Manuel, and I follow after my own thinking and my own desire. Of course it is very fine of me to be renouncing so much wealth and power for the sake of my wonderful dear Niafer: but she is worth the sacrifice, and, besides, she is witnessing all this magnanimity, and cannot well fail to be impressed.”
Niafer was of course reflecting: “This is very foolish and dear of him, and I shall be compelled, in mere decency, to pretend to corresponding lunacies for the first month or so of our marriage. After that, I hope, we will settle down to some more reasonable way of living.”
Meanwhile she regarded Manuel fondly, and quite as though she considered him to be displaying unusual intelligence.
But Gisèle and Miramon were looking at each other, and wondering: “What can the long-legged boy see in this stupid and plain-featured girl who is years older than he? or she in the young swaggering ragged fool? And how much wiser and happier is our marriage than, in any event, the average marriage!”
And Miramon, for one, was so deeply moved by the staggering thought which holds together so many couples in the teeth of human nature that he patted his wife’s hand. Then he sighed. “Love has conquered my designs,” said Miramon, oracularly, “and the secret of a contented marriage, after all, is to pay particular attention to the wives of everybody else.”
Gisèle exhorted him not to be a fool, but she spoke without acerbity, and, speaking, she squeezed his hand. She understood this potent magician better than she intended ever to permit him to suspect.
Whereafter Miramon wiped the heavenly bodies from the firmament, and set a miraculous rainbow there, and under its arch was enacted for the swineherd and the servant girl such a betrothal masque of fantasies and illusions as gave full scope to the art of Miramon, and delighted everybody, but delighted Miramon in particular. The dragon that guards hidden treasure made sport for them, the naiads danced, and cherubim fluttered about singing very sweetly and asking droll conundrums. Then they feasted, with unearthly servitors to attend them, and did all else appropriate to an affiancing of deities. And when these junketings were over, Manuel said that, since it seemed he was not to be a wealthy nobleman after all, he and Niafer must be getting, first to the nearest priest’s and then back to the pigs.
“I am not so sure that you can manage it,” said Miramon, “for, while the ascent of Vraidex is incommoded by serpents, the quitting of Vraidex is very apt to be hindered by death and fate. For I must tell you I have a rather arbitrary half-brother, who is one of those dreadful Realists, without a scrap of aesthetic feeling, and there is no controlling him.”
“Well,” Manuel considered, “one cannot live forever among dreams, and death and fate must be encountered by all men. So we can but try.”
Now for a while the sombre eyes of Miramon Lluagor appraised them. He, who was lord of the nine sleeps and prince of the seven madnesses, now gave a little sigh; for he knew that these young people were enviable and, in the outcome, were unimportant.
So Miramon said, “Then do you go your way, and if you do not encounter the author and destroyer of us all it will be well for you, and if you do encounter him that too will be well in that it is his wish.”
“I neither seek nor avoid him,” Manuel replied.
