Part 50 (1/2)
”What!” exclaimed Lady Helena; ”there are more wonders still in Australia?”
”Yes, Madam, its climate. It is even stranger than its productions.”
”Is it possible?” they all said.
”I am not speaking of the hygienic qualities of the climate,” continued Paganel, ”rich as it is in oxygen and poor in azote. There are no damp winds, because the trade winds blow regularly on the coasts, and most diseases are unknown, from typhus to measles, and chronic affections.”
”Still, that is no small advantage,” said Glenarvan.
”No doubt; but I am not referring to that, but to one quality it has which is incomparable.”
”And what is that?”
”You will never believe me.”
”Yes, we will,” exclaimed his auditors, their curiosity aroused by this preamble.
”Well, it is--”
”It is what?”
”It is a moral regeneration.”
”A moral regeneration?”
”Yes,” replied the SAVANT, in a tone of conviction. ”Here metals do not get rust on them by exposure to the air, nor men. Here the pure, dry atmosphere whitens everything rapidly, both linen and souls. The virtue of the climate must have been well known in England when they determined to send their criminals here to be reformed.”
”What! do you mean to say the climate has really any such influence?”
said Lady Helena.
”Yes, Madam, both on animals and men.”
”You are not joking, Monsieur Paganel?”
”I am not, Madam. The horses and the cattle here are of incomparable docility. You see it?”
”It is impossible!”
”But it is a fact. And the convicts transported into this reviving, salubrious air, become regenerated in a few years. Philanthropists know this. In Australia all natures grow better.”
”But what is to become of you then, Monsieur Paganel, in this privileged country--you who are so good already?” said Lady Helena. ”What will you turn out?”
”Excellent, Madam, just excellent, and that's all.”
CHAPTER X AN ACCIDENT
THE next day, the 24th of December, they started at daybreak. The heat was already considerable, but not unbearable, and the road was smooth and good, and allowed the cavalcade to make speedy progress. In the evening they camped on the banks of the White Lake, the waters of which are brackish and undrinkable.
Jacques Paganel was obliged to own that the name of this lake was a complete misnomer, for the waters were no more white than the Black Sea is black, or the Red Sea red, or the Yellow River yellow, or the Blue Mountains blue. However, he argued and disputed the point with all the _amour propre_ of a geographer, but his reasoning made no impression.