"Ugh!" said the other, "leave off with flower beds." 

 The secretary began again. "Nature is like an assembly of blonde and brown-haired girls whose jewels—" 

 "What am I supposed to do with your brown-haired girls?" said the other. 

 "Then she is like a gallery of paintings whose features—" 

 "Certainly not!" said the voyager. "I say again that nature is like nature. Why bother looking for comparisons?" 

 "To please you," replied the Secretary. 

 "I do not want to be pleased," answered the voyager. "I want to be taught. Tell me how many senses the men of your planet have." 

 "We only have 72," said the academic, "and we always complain about it. Our imagination surpasses our needs. We find that with our 72 senses, our ring, our five moons, we are too restricted; and in spite of all our curiosity and the fairly large number of passions that result from our 72 senses, we have plenty of time to get bored." 

 "I believe it," said Micromegas, "for on our planet we have almost 1,000 senses; and yet we still have a kind of vague feeling, a sort of worry, that warns us that there are even more perfect beings. I have traveled a bit; and I have seen mortals that surpass us, some far superior. But I have not seen any that desire only what they truly need, and who need only what they indulge in. Maybe someday I will happen upon a country that lacks nothing; but so far no one has given me any word of a place like that." 

 The Saturnian and the Sirian proceeded to wear themselves out in speculating; but after a lot of very ingenious and very dubious reasoning, it was necessary to return to the facts. 

 "How long do you live?" said the Sirian. 

 "Oh! For a very short time," replied the small man from Saturn. 

 "Same with us," said the Sirian. "we always complain about it. It must be a universal law of nature." 

 "Alas! We only live through 500 revolutions around the sun," said the Saturnian. (This translates to about 15,000 years, by our standards.) "You can see yourself that this is to die almost at the moment one is born; our existence is a point, our lifespan an instant, our planet an atom. Hardly do we begin to learn a little when death 

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