“Who’ll buy my nostrums?” cried the buffoon.
“What are they?” asked Folly, cantering near on a hobby horse.
“Different kinds for different people. Here’s a powder for ladies––to dispel the rage for intrigue. Here’s a pill for politicians––to settle bad consciences. Here’s an eye-water for jealous husbands––it thickens the visual membrane. Here’s something for the clergy––it eliminates windy discourses. Here’s an infusion for creditors––it creates resignation and teaches patience.”
“And what have you for lovers?”
“Nothing,” answered the clown; “love like fever and ague must run its course. Nostrums! Who’ll buy my nostrums?”
“Oh, I’m so glad I came!” enthusiastically exclaimed a tall, supple girl, laden with a mass of flowers.
“Isn’t it too bad, though, you can’t polka with some of the military gentlemen?” returned her companion who wore a toga and carried a lantern. “Mademoiselle Castiglione wouldn’t let you come, until I promised not to allow you out of my sight.”
“It was lovely of you to take me,” she said, “and I don’t mind about the military gentlemen.”
“My dear, if all women were like you, we poor civilians would not be relegated to the background! 479 I wish, though, I had worn some other costume. This––ahem, dress!––has a tendency to get between my legs and disconcert my philosophical dignity. I can understand why Diogenes didn’t care about walking abroad. My only wonder is that everybody didn’t stay in his tub in those days. Don’t talk to me about the ‘noble Roman!’ Why, he wore skirts!”
“And Monsieur Intaglio lectured to us for an hour to-day about the wonderful drapery of the ancients!” laughed the girl. “The poetry of dress, he called it!”