“When we find this oath alluded to in the Holy Scriptures,” she said, “it is indicated by the words ‘he swore to him by laying his hand on his thigh.’”
“But the thigh is not really what is meant; and consequently we never find any notice of a man taking this oath to a woman, as a woman has no ‘verbum’.”
The Count de la Tour d’Auvergne came back at nine o’clock in the evening, and he shewed no little astonishment at seeing me still with his aunt. He told us that his cousin’s fever had increased, and that small-pox had declared itself; “and I am going to take leave of you, my dear aunt, at least for a month, as I intend to shut myself up with the sick man.”
Madame d’Urfe praised his zeal, and gave him a little bag on his promising to return it to her after the cure of the prince.
“Hang it round his neck and the eruption will come out well, and he will be perfectly cured.”
He promised to do so, and having wished us good evening he went out.
“I do not know, madam, what your bag contains, but if it have aught to do with magic, I have no confidence in its efficacy, as you have neglected to observe the planetary hour.”
“It is an electrum, and magic and the observance of the hour have nothing to do with it.”
“I beg your pardon.”
She then said that she thought my desire for privacy praiseworthy, but she was sure I should not be ill pleased with her small circle, if I would but enter it.