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.

A few minutes after this operation, which I had performed as if by instinct and on the spur of the moment, Camille and I went away in a coach, and I told her so many wonderful tales that when she got out at her door she looked quite mazed.

Four or five days after, when I had almost forgotten the farce, I heard a carriage stopping at my door, and looking out of my window saw M. de la Tour d’Auvergne skipping nimbly out of the carriage.

“You were sure of success, then,” said he, “as you did not come to see me the day after your astounding operation.”

“Of course I was sure, but if I had not been too busy you would have seen me, for all that.”

“May I take a bath?”

“No, don’t bathe till you feel quite well.”

“Very good.  Everybody is in a state of astonishment at your feat, as I could not help telling the miracle to all my acquaintances.  There are certainly some sceptics who laugh at me, but I let them talk.”

“You should have kept your own counsel; you know what Paris is like.  Everybody will be considering me as a master-quack.”

“Not at all, not at all.  I have come to ask a favour of you.”

“What’s that?”

“I have an aunt who enjoys a great reputation for her skill in the occult sciences, especially in alchemy.  She is a woman of wit, very, rich, and sole mistress of her fortune; in short, knowing her will do you no harm.  She longs to see you, for she pretends to know you, and says that you are not what you seem.  She has entreated me to take you to dine with her, and I hope you will accept the invitation.  Her name is the Marchioness d’Urfe”