My hunchback made haste to compound the philters, and gave them to me to carry to their addresses, instructing me to collect the pay for them. On the way I reflected how amusing it would be to change the destination of the little phials.
“Parbleu!” I said to myself, “I am going to see what will happen! I will give Madame Rose, instead of the charm for jealousy, the one to make a person amorous; to Monsieur Gérard the one to arouse anger, and to Madame Dubelair the one for jealousy; the results cannot fail to be comical.”
I instantly put my plan into execution; I delivered the phials to the three persons concerned, assuring them of their miraculous effect; then I returned to the inn and impatiently awaited the result of my prank.
Monsieur Gérard had solicited and obtained from Madame Dubelair permission to lunch with her en tête-à-tête. I had carried him the alluring charm early in the morning, and he thought that it would not be a bad idea for him to take part of it before calling upon his inamorata, in order to give himself resolution and audacity. Madame Dubelair had lost no time in tasting the marvelous phial, which was to make her charms impervious to time; and Madame Rose had poured a large part of hers into the chocolate that her husband drank every morning.
You know, my dear Sans-Souci, what my master’s drugs were compounded of, and how he had figured out their inevitable effect. Imagine therefore the events that occurred during that memorable evening! Monsieur Gérard betook himself to his adored one’s abode; on the way, he felt slight colicky pains; his head was burning hot. He supposed that the charm was working and he hastened to Madame Dubelair’s. He found her reclining negligently in a long chair. But imagine his surprise! His charming friend was unrecognizable; her nose was red and swollen, her skin tightly drawn; several blotches embellished her brow.
“How do you think I look this evening, Monsieur Gérard?” she asked with a sly smile; “I am sure that you find me changed.”
“In truth, madame,” replied the poor advocate, holding his hands to his abdomen and making diabolical faces as he spoke, “I do find you changed. You are ill, no doubt.”
“Ill, monsieur! ill! when you yourself are writhing and twisting in such an extraordinary way!”
“Madame, I admit, that for a minute or two——”
“My mirror, Fifine; I wish to know if I look sick, as monsieur thinks.”