"_Dame!_ monsieur," she replied, "a week ago, while I was dancing with Thomas, I fell and sprained my wrist, and since then I haven't been able to use it as well as usual; have you got anything that will cure that right away?" "Have I, my sweet child! As if I hadn't everything! In a quarter of an hour, I'll drive away your pain, and it will never come back. All I've got to do is rub you with a certain ointment of mine; but I must say some magic words over it, and I can't say them before witnesses; that would break the spell. So take me to your chamber, or some other place where we shall be alone, and I'll operate." "Shall I, aunt?" asked the farmer's daughter. "Shall you!" repeated the good woman; "why, of course. Make the most of this great man's kindness, and let him rub you." The girl made no further objection, but requested Dubourg to follow her. He fastened his donkey, with his whole outfit, at the farmhouse door, and walked quickly after his pretty patient, who led him to her chamber and closed the door, abandoning herself with perfect confidence to the skill of the sorcerer, whose appearance was rather laughable than terrifying. Meanwhile, the aunt, being in haste to enjoy the effect of the pastilles, and too impatient to wait for the night in order to dream of her first husband, had also withdrawn to her apartment, and, having swallowed a pill and performed the prescribed ceremonial, had gone to bed and was anxiously awaiting the operation of the charm, which was not precisely ushered in by prodigies. While the ladies were experimenting with Dubourg's specifics, the farmer came home. He began by inquiring who owned the ass that he found at his door, and was told that it was the property of the great healer who had recently arrived. The farmer asked who this great healer was, and his servants replied that they did not know, but that he was probably a sorcerer, because he wore his hair in curls, like a woman, and had a long queue, enormous boots, a syringe that played dance music, and a wig-block that spoke when it was stormy. Now, the farmer was one of those men who are so unfortunate as not to believe in sorcerers, spells, and magic, who insist on seeing with their eyes and hearing with their ears, and cannot be convinced that a black hen evokes the devil, or that the future can be read by means of a sheep's liver, coffee grounds, or molten lead thrown in water. Such men are the bane of the occult sciences. Vexed by what he learned from his servants, the farmer inquired where this great healer had gone. They told him that they had seen him go into the house with the young woman and her aunt. The farmer hurried to the old lady's chamber and found her in bed, still awaiting the delicious dream that did not come.