“But, my dear monsieur, the first law of God is to be consistent with Himself; without unity, no power—”
“Ah! in that light—”
“No power, as I say, can make the hair grow on bald heads; just as you can never dye, without serious danger, red or white hair. But in advertising the benefits of oil you commit no mistake, you tell no falsehood, and I think that those who use it will probably preserve their hair.”
“Do you think that the royal Academy of Sciences would approve of—”
“Oh! there is no discovery in all that,” said Vauquelin. “Besides, charlatans have so abused the name of the Academy that it would not help you much. My conscience will not allow me to think the oil of nuts a prodigy.”
“What would be the best way to extract it; by pressure, or decoction?” asked Birotteau.
“Pressure between two hot slabs will cause the oil to flow more abundantly; but if obtained by pressure between cold slabs it will be of better quality. It should be applied to the skin itself,” added Vauquelin, kindly, “and not to the hair; otherwise the effect might be lost.”
“Recollect all that, Popinot,” said Birotteau, with an enthusiasm that sent a glow into his face. “You see before you, monsieur, a young man who will count this day among the finest in his life. He knew you, he venerated you, without ever having seen you. We often talk of you in our home: a name that is in the heart is often on the lips. We pray for you every day, my wife and daughter and I, as we ought to pray for our benefactor.”
“Too much for so little,” said Vauquelin, rather bored by the voluble gratitude of the perfumer.
“Ta, ta, ta!” exclaimed Birotteau, “you can’t prevent our loving you, you who will take nothing from us. You are like the sun; you give light, and those whom you illuminate can give you nothing in return.”