“Stay,” Comte said, approaching the animal; “I am sure your pig is more reasonable than you. Tell me on your conscience, my fine fellow, are you worth one hundred francs?”
“You are a long way out,” the pig replied, in a hoarse and hollow voice; “I’m not worth one hundred pence. I am meazled, and my mistress is trying to take you in.”
The crowd that had assembled round the woman and pig fell back in terror, fancying them both bewitched, while Comte returned to his hotel, where the story was told him with sundry additions, and he learned that some courageous persons had gone up to the woman, begged her to be exorcised, and thus drive the unclean spirit out of the pig.
Still, Comte did not always escape so easily; and he almost paid dearly for a trick he played on some peasants at Fribourg, in Switzerland. These fanatics took him for a real sorcerer, and attacked with sticks; and they were even going to throw him into a lime-kiln, had not Comte escaped by causing a terrible voice to issue from the kiln, which routed them.
I will end my account of these amusing adventures with a little anecdote, in which Comte and myself were in turn mystifier and mystified.
The celebrated ventriloquist paid me a visit at the Palais Royal, and I accompanied him to the foot of the stairs on his departure. Comte walked down before me, still talking, so that the pockets of his coat were at my mercy. The opportunity was too good to neglect the chance of playing a trick on my talented confrère, so I filched his handkerchief and a handsome gold snuff-box: and I took care to turn the pocket inside out, as a proof that my performance had been properly executed.
I was laughing at the comic result my trick must have when I returned Comte his property; but it was “diamond cut diamond:” for, while I was thus violating the laws of hospitality, Comte was scheming against me. I had scarce concealed the handkerchief and box, when I heard a strange voice on the first floor landing.
“Monsieur Robert-Houdin, will you be kind enough to step up to the box-office: I wish to speak to you.”
My readers will guess that the ventriloquist had played me a trick; indeed, on reaching the office, I only found the clerk, who could not understand what I was talking about. I perceived, too late that I was victimised, and I heard Comte celebrating his victory by shouts of laughter. For a moment, I confess I felt vexed at having been taken in, but I soon regained my equanimity on thinking I might have the best of it yet. So I went down stairs very calmly.
“What did that person want?” Comte asked, with ill-repressed delight.