A few days after, I received from M. de la Ville the five hundred louis for my Dunkirk mission.  On my going to see Camille she told me that Tour d’Auvergne was kept in bed by an attack of sciatica, and that if I liked we could pay him a visit the next day.  I agreed, and we went.  After breakfast was over I told him in a serious voice that if he would give me a free hand I could cure him, as he was not suffering from sciatica but from a moist and windy humour which I could disperse my means of the Talisman of Solomon and five mystic words.  He began to laugh, but told me to do what I liked.

“Very good, then I will go out and buy a brush.”

“I will send a servant.”

“No, I must get it myself, as I want some drugs as well.”  I bought some nitre, mercury, flower of sulphur, and a small brush, and on my return said, “I must have a little of your——­, this liquid is indispensable, and it must be quite fresh.”

Camille and he began to laugh, but I succeeded in keeping the serious face suitable to my office.  I handed him a mug and modestly lowered the curtains, and he then did what I wanted.

I made a mixture of the various ingredients, and I told Camille that she must rub his thigh whilst I spoke the charm, but I warned her that if she laughed while she was about it it would spoil all.  This threat only increased their good humour, and they laughed without cessation; for as soon as they thought they had got over it, they would look at one another, and after repressing themselves as long as they could would burst out afresh, till I began to think that I had bound them to an impossible condition.  At last, after holding their sides for half an hour, they set themselves to be serious in real earnest, taking my imperturbable gravity for their example.  De la Tour d’Auvergne was the first to regain a serious face, and he then offered Camille his thigh, and she, fancying herself on the boards, began to rub the sick man, whilst I mumbled in an undertone words which they would not have understood however clearly I had spoken, seeing that I did not understand them myself.

I was nearly spoiling the efficacy of the operation when I saw the grimaces they made in trying to keep serious.  Nothing could be more amusing than the expression on Camille’s face.  At last I told her that she had rubbed enough, and dipping the brush into the mixture I drew on his thigh the five-pointed star called Solomon’s seal.  I then wrapped up the thigh in three napkins, and I told him that if he would keep quiet for twenty-four hours without taking off—­his napkins, I would guarantee a cure.

The most amusing part of it all was, that by the time I had done the count and Camille laughed no more, their faces wore a bewildered look, and as for me . . .  I could have sworn I had performed the most wonderful work in the world.  If one tells a lie a sufficient number of times, one ends by believing it.