"I should think so! a wonderful invention like this! I ought to have made you pay me its weight in gold; but between friends, you know. Besides, a promise is a sacred thing! Here, take your stuff!"
And Bahuchet, having received his money, handed his comrade the little jar.
Plumard was in such a hurry to experiment with his pomade, that he instantly tore off the paper and looked at and smelt the contents of the jar.
"It is black," he said.
"I suppose that it has to be black."
"It has a strange smell."
"Probably because the old sibyl uses plants that are unknown to us."
"How hard it is!"
"You must warm it a little before using; then it becomes more ductile."
"No matter; I mean to put some of it on my head at once."