The host listened with wide-open eyes to this harangue of the little hunchback, delivered with extraordinary emphasis and assurance; he took the prospectuses with a respectful bow, assured us of his devotion, tried to pronounce my companion’s name, failed, made a grimace, took off his cap, and backed out of our room.
When he had gone, I asked my companion if I was the somnambulist, thirty years old, who had cured so many people.
“Yes, my dear boy,” he replied; “don’t be surprised at anything; I will answer for everything. You told me to call you Jacques, but that name is too far within the reach of everybody; when we have visitors, I shall call you nothing but Tatouos—don’t forget.—I am going to take a walk about the town and make a few memoranda; while I am gone, amuse yourself arranging my philters in this cupboard, and making a few boxes of pills; I will return very soon.”
I was left alone, but, instead of making pills, I amused myself eating the cacao, cinnamon and other ingredients used in compounding the so-called charms. I also inspected the valise, which my companion had left open; I found a long, black gown, a false nose, a scratch wig and a flaxen beard. I was busily engaged in the examination of these different objects, when someone tapped softly at our door.
“Come in,” I said, without moving. The door opened very gently and a young brunette of some twenty years entered our apartment. She was one of the servants of the inn, and, like most of her class, she was very inquisitive and passably wanton. She had heard her master exclaim on leaving our room that he had as guests in his inn the two most extraordinary men in the universe: a scholar, who treated Frenchmen like the Chinese, and a somnambulist thirty years old, who looked like a child of twelve, and who could put the widest awake people to sleep. When she heard that, Clairette had resolved to be the first one to be put to sleep, to see what effect it would produce on her; and, presuming that when we became well known, it would be more difficult to obtain an audience, she had made haste to come up to our room, on the pretext of asking whether we wanted anything.
The girl came forward on tiptoe, like a person moved by fear and curiosity at the same time. She stopped within two steps of me and looked at me with close attention. I looked at her in my turn, and found her most attractive. I had never yet thought about women; indeed, I had never before been alone with a young girl. The presence of that one, her close scrutiny of me, and the pleasant expression of her face,—all those things excited me greatly, and I was conscious of a feeling which I had never known before.
We were both silent for some time; Clairette broke the silence:
“What, monsieur!” she said, staring with all her eyes, “what! are you thirty years old?”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” I replied at once, recalling what my companion had told me, and thinking that that falsehood might lead to some amusing adventures. Moreover, as you must know, a young man of fifteen is always well pleased to appear older and more mature than he is; whereas at thirty, he regrets that he is not fifteen still.
“Bless my soul! why, I can’t get over it! Thirty years old! You don’t look half of it!”