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Updated: June 4, 2025
M. Le Mesge knelt and fastened on the lower part of the case, a square of white cardboard, a large label, that he had picked up from his desk, a few minutes before, on leaving the library. "You may read," he said simply, but still in the same low tone.
"It is an old quarrel, a very old quarrel," the Professor replied gravely. "A quarrel which long antedates you, M. Morhange." "Explain yourself, I beg of you, Professor." "You are Man. She is a Woman," said the dreamy voice of M. Le Mesge. "The whole matter lies there." "Really, sir, I do not see ... we do not see." "You are going to understand.
My comrade is witness that I took it for a Greek name. I understand now, thanks to you and the divine Plato, that I need no longer feel surprised to hear a barbarian called by a Greek name. But I am no less perplexed as to the etymology of the word. Can you enlighten me?" "I shall certainly not fail you there, sir," said M. Le Mesge.
"I recognized M. Le Mesge, the Pastor, the Hetman, Aguida, two Tuareg slaves, still more, all joining in the most animated conference. "I drew nearer, astonished, even alarmed to see together so many people who ordinarily felt no kind of sympathy for each other. "An unheard of occurrence had thrown all the people of the mountain into uproar.
What is this dynasty, from which, I believe, you trace the descent of Antinea? What is her rôle in the story of Atlantis?" M. Le Mesge smiled with condescension, meantime winking at Morhange with the eye nearest to him. Morhange was listening without expression, without a word, chin in hand, elbow on knee. "Plato will answer for me, sir," said the Professor.
Joy makes people amiable and M. Le Mesge was really delirious with it. A puff of breeze came from the window. I went to the balustrade and, resting my elbows on it, began to run through a number of the Revue des Deux Mondes.
"I have told him often enough to hunt other proselytes and leave our cook alone." "Professor," Spardek began with dignity. "I maintain my contention," cried Le Mesge, who seemed to me to be getting a bit overloaded. "I call the gentleman to witness," he went on, turning to me. "He has just come. He is unbiased.
A thousand little jars, spread on a costly carved wood dressing-table, danced before my eyes. They were of all sizes and colors, carved in a very transparent kind of jade. The warm humidity of the atmosphere hastened my relaxation. I still had strength to think, "The devil take Atlantis and the vault and Le Mesge." Then I fell asleep in the bath.
From time to time, a white Targa, mute and expressionless as a phantom, would pass us and we would hear the clatter of his slippers die away behind us. M. Le Mesge stopped before a heavy door covered with the same pale metal which I had noticed on the walls of the library. He opened it and stood aside to let us pass.
"This book," M. Le Mesge replied very slowly, weighing his words, with an extraordinary expression of triumph, "is the greatest, the most beautiful, the most secret, of the dialogues of Plato; it is the Critias of Atlantis." "The Critias? But it is unfinished," murmured Morhange. "It is unfinished in France, in Europe, everywhere else," said M. Le Mesge, "but it is finished here.
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