Coué reached for his hand and shook it.
"My friend, you are cured."
"C'est merveilleux," the man answered. "I believe I am."
"Prove it," said Coué. "Hit me on the shoulder."
The patient laughed, and dealt him a gentle rap.
"Harder," Coué encouraged him. "Hit me harder—as hard as you can."
His arm began to rise and fall in regular blows, increasing in force until Coué was compelled to call on him to stop.
"Voilà, mon ami, you can go back to your anvil."
The man resumed his seat, still hardly able to comprehend what had occurred. Now and then he lifted his arm as if to reassure himself, whispering to himself in an awed voice, "I can, I can."
A little further on was seated a woman who had complained of violent neuralgia. Under the influence of the repeated phrase "ça passe" (it's going) the pain was dispelled in less than thirty seconds. Then it was the turn of the visitor from Paris. What he had seen had inspired him with confidence; he was sitting more erect, there was a little patch of colour in his cheeks, and his trembling seemed less violent.