“Very good. I will give you a pistole a day, if you agree to come and work in the château, never leaving off all day, and entirely under my supervision. Your food will be all found for you; and you will be paid on completion of the task.” The tailor accepted the bargain with delight, and fell to work; while Orondate caused a scrupulously exact plan of the cottage to be made, with precise measurements of every thing in its interior, taking note even of the position of each piece of furniture, and the smallest object in the place. Then he had the entire cottage taken to pieces, the walls knocked down, and the whole load of it transported to a spot a little outside the avenue. There the skilful workmen he had engaged, put it all together again, and all the smallest things back in their places, not forgetting the good man’s little soup saucepan, and the enclosing garden hedge. The avenue, meanwhile, was carefully swept, and cleared of all traces of the removal. Nothing remained to be seen of either the cottage or the garden. The tailor’s work being now completed, he received his honorarium from Orondate, with a couple of louis in addition. Then going home, well satisfied, towards nightfall he passed down the avenue. It seemed rather long, yet he arrived at the end at last, sooner than he quite expected. Returning, he came and went, came and went, and could find his house nowhere. The poor man spent the night in searching for it. The day broke, and shed light on the avenue, but there was no cottage. Had the foul fiend been at work? Reaching the outskirts of the park, he saw, just beyond the wall, a house resembling his own. Rushing forward, he recognised his own sheltering trees, the garden, the grass-plot, and the honeysuckle hedge. The door faced him, and Jérome inserted the key in its lock. It fell open smoothly. Going in, he found everything in its proper place—only the table, instead of being bare, bore a smoking hot leg of mutton, flanked by two bottles of wine. The tailor crossed himself devoutly, convinced that he was bewitched. The leg of mutton, however, looked appetising, and Jérome was hungry after his long nocturnal perambulations; he approached the joint, and contemplated it with lessening repugnance. Then, fetching his little holy-water brush, he sprinkled the mutton to see if it disappeared; but it smoked on. It certainly had not been cooked in the infernal regions. Jérome took heart therefore, and sat down to dine. The authors of this curious transformation scene, concealed to watch what would happen, waited till Jérome had well banqueted; then they entered, and with bursts of laughter, asked him what he thought of the sorcerers of the château? Monsieur Orondate was paid the price he had asked, Monsieur Vicariville gave Jérome the hundred louis his guest had declined, and the tailor contented himself with pulling a grimace at the trick which had been played him.[3] * * * * *