“What a good thing I was handy to give you an antidote,” suggested the hearer.
“It was lucky,” said the locksmith.
“But as one dose is not enough, have another,” said the stranger, putting a few drops from the smelling bottle in a glass of water; it was ammonia and the man had hardly swallowed the compound than he opened his eyes immeasurably and gurgled between two sneezes:
“Ah, monster, what are you giving us there? augh, augh!”
“My dear fellow, I am giving you stuff that will save your life,” returned the kind friend.
“If it is physic, that is all right,” said Gamain: “but it is a beastly failure if you call it a drink.”
The stranger profited by his sneezing again and twitching his features, shut the blinds though not the windows.
Looking round him the master locksmith recognized with the profound gratitude of drinking men for old haunts, the saloon where he had feasted before. In his frequent trip to town from Versailles, he had not seldom halted here. It might be thought necessary, as the house was halfway.
This gratitude produced its effect: it gave him a great confidence to find himself on friendly ground.
“Hurrah, it looks as though I were halfway home anyway,” he exclaimed.