"But by what spell do you succeed in making that man lend you money so often?"
"Ah! that is my secret!"
"But you'll tell us your secret, Dodichet, won't you? You'll confide it to us?"
"I will tell it to you, mesdemoiselles, when I no longer need to borrow money of Miflorès; when I have inherited from my aunt."
"Oh! do tell us your secret, dear old Dodichet! We'll be very close-mouthed."
"I do not doubt your discretion, mesdemoiselles! That's why I won't tell you anything more."
Dodichet drank three grogs, smoked five cigarettes, then went home, humming:
| "'Mais on revient toujours |
| A ses premières amours!'" |
The next morning, quite early, Dodichet went to the hotel where the mysterious apothecary lived. He found him packing his trunks and preparing to move.
"What does this mean?" cried Dodichet; "why these preparations for going away?"