Page:Dumas - Tales of Strange adventure (Methuen, 1907).djvu/110

98 Olifus," I remarked. "Will you now explain what troa is? You told me, like the clever narrator you are, that you would do me this favour at the proper time and place; I think the proper time and place are come."

"Sir, troa is a herb which grows abundantly in the Indies. They extract the juice when it is still green, or else powder the seeds when it is ripe. This juice or this powder is then mixed with the food of the person you wish to be rid of for the time being. The person in question thereupon becomes completely absorbed in himself, sings, dances, and goes to sleep, ceasing entirely to see everything that goes on about him; when he wakes up, as he has lost all memory of what has occurred, you tell him the first cock and bull story that comes into your head and he believes it.

"This is what troa is, a very convenient thing to have about you, as you may suppose; indeed I am assured that the women of Goa are always provided with either troa juice in a phial or troa powder in a sachet.

"At five o'clock next morning my fair Portuguese begged me to help her put her husband to bed: then as day was on the point of breaking, we took leave of each other, promising to meet again.

"For a moment I had entertained the idea of loading up a ship with troa and despatching her to Europe together with a detailed description of the virtues of the cargo; but I was assured the stuff would deteriorate on the voyage, so I reluctantly abandoned the speculation, which nevertheless I still think might not have been such a bad one.

"Meantime my fruit business prospered amain; my ten slaves brought me in, taking one day with another, six rupees clear profit, which is an enormous income for Goa, where everything is dirt-cheap. So my friend the spice-merchant presently let fall some words anent marriage with his daughter, Donna Inez, a charming young lady, Avho had been piously brought up at the convent of the Annunciation, and whom I had already met once or twice at his house.

"Donna Inez was very lovely and seemed a sweet, modest girl. I began to weary of my Portuguese mistress, who one by one was grabbing all my pearls. Then, mind you, nature had certainly meant me for a married man, till women disgusted me with the idea. So I readily agreed to my friend's proposals, and Donna Inez was brought home from her convent, this time with the express intention of bringing us together.

"She was still the same sweet modest girl I had before seen and admired; only her eyes were red and swollen. I asked the reason of this redness, which pointed to her having shed many tears; but I was told that Donna Inez was so innocent and unsophisticated that, when they had spoken to her about leaving her Convent, she had burst into torrents of weeping. I asked the girl herself about these regrets, and the charming creature told me in so many words that she had no wish to marry, and that she felt real grief at leaving her Convent, in which she found as a rule every satisfaction she could desire. I smiled to myself at her charming naïveté; and as I had no doubt that marriage would produce the same effect on her as a journey does on the traveller, that is to say, delight her with the charm of novelty, I paid no further heed whether to her regret or its reasons.

"Accordingly my marriage with Donna Inez was settled by common consent between the spice-merchant and myself; we agreed upon the amount of the dowry, and three weeks later, having fulfilled all necessary preliminaries, we were united with great pomp at the Cathedral Church. I will say nothing about the marriage ceremonies, which are much the same as in France. Donna Inez appeared to have completely forgotten her convent. She was as gay as decency permitted, and when the moment for retiring arrived, she asked my leave with charming modesty to withdraw to the bedroom, craving only a quarter of an hour's grace to have time to undress and prepare for bed.

"However, to help my patience I found a little collation ready for me, nicely set out on plates of fine china; there was a bottle of Muscat wine of San-Lucar, which sparkled so invitingly in its crystal prison that I fell very philosophically to drinking my fair bride's health. I had never tasted such wine before, I do assure you, sir, and I know what wine is. Then I ate some of the fruit. I was a dealer in fruit myself, as you know; but I had never tasted such fruit. The wine was nectar, the fruit ambrosia.

"Then everything had a certain appetising smack, an agreeable sub-acid