“What do you take to be the meaning of this word?”

“Antinea can only be a proper name,” said Morhange.  “To whom does it refer?  I admit I don’t know, and if at this very moment I am marching toward the south, dragging you along with me, it is because I count on learning more about it.  Its etymology?  It hasn’t one definitely, but there are thirty possibilities.  Bear in mind that the Tifinar alphabet is far from tallying with the Greek alphabet, which increases the number of hypotheses.  Shall I suggest several?”

“I was just about to ask you to.”

“To begin with, there is [Greek:  agti] and [Greek:  neos], the woman who is placed opposite a vessel, an explanation which would have been pleasing to Gaffarel and to my venerated master Berlioux.  That would apply well enough to the figure-heads of ships.  There is a technical term that I cannot recall at this moment, not if you beat me a hundred times over.[7]

[Footnote 7:  It is perhaps worth noting here that Figures de Proues is the exact title of a very remarkable collection of poems by Mme. Delarus-Mardrus. (Note by M. Leroux.)]

“Then there is [Greek:  agtinea], that you must relate to [Greek:  agti] and [Greek:  naos], she who holds herself before the [Greek:  naos], the [Greek:  naos] of the temple, she who is opposite the sanctuary, therefore priestess.  An interpretation which would enchant Girard and Renan.

“Next we have [Greek:  agtine], from [Greek:  agti] and [Greek:  neos], new, which can mean two things:  either she who is the contrary of young, which is to say old; or she who is the enemy of novelty or the enemy of youth.

“There is still another sense of [Greek:  gati], in exchange for, which is capable of complicating all the others I have mentioned; likewise there are four meanings for the verb [Greek:  neo], which means in turn to go, to flow, to thread or weave, to heap.  There is more still....  And notice, please, that I have not at my disposition on the otherwise commodious hump of this mehari, either the great dictionary of Estienne or the lexicons of Passow, of Pape, or of Liddel-Scott.  This is only to show you, my dear friend, that epigraphy is but a relative science, always dependent on the discovery of a new text which contradicts the previous findings, when it is not merely at the mercy of the humors of the epigraphists and their pet conceptions of the universe.

“That was rather my view of it,” I said, “But I must admit my astonishment to find that, with such a sceptical opinion of the goal, you still do not hesitate to take risks which may be quite considerable.”

Morhange smiled wanly.

“I do not interpret, my friend; I collect.  From what I will take back to him, Dom Granger has the ability to draw conclusions which are beyond my slight knowledge.  I was amusing myself a little.  Pardon me.”