I should like to have them in my home, as they have gold-fishes in a globe, to feed them every hour, to see how they would devour...." Ferragut felt a recurrence of the same uneasiness that he had experienced one morning in the temple of Virgil.
"She's crazy!" he said to himself.
But in spite of her craziness, he greatly enjoyed the faint perfume that exhaled through the opening at her throat.
He no longer saw the silent world that, sparkling with color, was swimming or paddling behind the crystal.

She was now the only creature who existed for him.

And he listened to her voice as though it were distant music as it continued explaining briefly all the particulars about those stones that were really animals, about those globes that, on distending themselves, showed their organs and again hid themselves under a gelatinous succession of waves.
They were a sac, a pocket, an elastic mask, in whose interior existed only water or air.

Between their armpits was their mouth, armed with long jaw bones, like a parrot's beak.

When breathing, a crack of their skin would open and close alternately.