Horace.
Splendid! Do the thing well while you're about it—better throw in their coachman—oh, and the couple you saw here just now,—the Rapkins.
Fakrash.
[Repeats the incantation, facing the door.] It is done. They remember naught of that they have seen. And now ask no more of me, but perform thy part and bring hither my bottle.
Horace.
[Going to door down on the right.] Right! I'll go and get it out of my bedroom.
[He goes out.
Fakrash.
[Pacing up and down in suspense and terror.] Haste! Haste! For until I am in my bottle once more every instant is an eternity!
Horace.