“Yes, it is a sovereign anti-spasmodic; burn a feather under her nose, and she will revive instantly.”
“But where shall I find a feather?” asked the bailiff.
“Here! take this, the feather round my hat.” And the lord of Vez broke off a bit of the ostrich feather which ornamented his hat, gave it to Monsieur Magloire, who lighted it at the candle and held it smoking under his wife’s nose.
The remedy was a sovereign one, as the Baron had said; the effect of it was instantaneous; Madame Magloire sneezed.
“Ah!” cried the bailiff delightedly, “now she is coming to! my wife! my dear wife! my dear little wife!”
Madame Magloire gave a sigh.
“My lord! my lord!” cried the bailiff, “she is saved! saved!”
Madame Magloire opened her eyes, looked first at the Bailiff and then at the Baron, with a bewildered gaze, and then finally fixing them on the Bailiff:
“Magloire! dear Magloire!” she said, “is it really you? Oh! how glad I am to see you again after the bad dream I have had!”
“Well!” muttered Thibault, “she is a brazen-faced huzzy, if you like! if I do not get all that I want from the ladies I run after, they, at least, afford me some valuable object lessons by the way!”