Marescot's clerk reappeared in the garden flourishing a letter from Madame Vaucorbeil.
The doctor tore it open, turned pale, and finally read these words:
"I am sewing ribbons on a straw hat."
Amazement prevented them from bursting into a laugh.
"A mere coincidence, deuce take it! It proves nothing."
And as the two magnetisers wore looks of triumph, he turned round at the door to say to them:
"Don't go further. These are risky amusements."
The curé, while leading away his beadle, reproved them sternly:
"Are you mad? Without my permission! Practices forbidden by the Church!"
They had all just taken their leave; Bouvard and Pécuchet were talking to the schoolmaster on the hillock, when Marcel rushed from the orchard, the bandage of his chin undone, and stuttered: