“Oh, doctor; here you are. Nay, don’t run away, doctor.” For that stout man was certainly trying to effect an escape. “Doctor, I must be loved now, at once; to-morrow will be no good.” “I’faith, fools there are, ’neath the sun, a fool, yet none the less a brother--this one. By Bacchus, he’s mad! Take the elixir, sir.” “Sir, I have.” “Then take another dose.” “Give me another bottle.” “Good; but first give me your money.” “Money--money,--I have none.” “Well, well, well, my young rustic. Come to-morrow, or, get some; and ask for me at the inn as soon as you like. Good night, good night.” And the doctor seemed rather glad to shuffle off, losing thereby, the feast to which he had been bidden. “Ah, me!” sighed the youth, flinging down on a seat. “Heigho! women are an awkward lot, as sure as my name’s Belcore,” said the sergeant, sauntering in. “Of course she loves me, and yet she will wait till this evening for the marriage. Hullo! hullo! rustic, what’s the matter?” “I want money, and it seems I _may_ want it.” “Well, you’re a fine fellow; enlist, and you’ll have twenty crowns.” “_Twenty!_ did you say twenty crowns, Mr. Sergeant?” “Look! here--jingle, jingle--here they are. And glory, and honor--and love--the soldier need never sigh.” “_Twenty_ crowns?” “Tw-w-wenty crowns!” “Done!” “Here, just sign this paper. Good; take your money. You’ll soon be a corporal, if you look up to me.” “Ha! ha! oh! oh!” laughed the sergeant, “I’ve enlisted my rival; oh! oh! a good tale to tell.” And he swaggered off, while Nemorino rushed away to buy bottle number two. CHAPTER IV. Every woman then and there in the market-place was full of it, and crowded about each other to hear and receive the news. “Did you ever!”--“Oh! _quite_ true!”--“Who _would_ have thought it, you know?”--“Yes but who told you?”--“Hush! not so _loud_.”--“It’s a secret.”--“Oh, of course!”--cried twenty voices at least. “Because, _I_ heard it from the young grocer (She _always_ hears every thing from the young grocer) who heard it from the mercer, who had it from the lawyer himself; and so you know _then_ it is.”--“Oh, of course; well, I’m sure _I_ should never have thought it.”--“And such a fortune.”--“Why, he’s the richest man in the parish.”--“I wish _I_ had a rich old uncle.”--“Yes, and he never went to see him.”--“All through _that_ Adina.”--“Eugh!”--“There he is!” (Twenty voices again.) “He” was Nemorino. “He” had run to the doctor, who again fraudulently appropriated the crowns; again “he” had imbibed the elixir of love, and this time he really hoped the elixir would have some effect. “How humble he looks.” “He don’t know his good fortune _yet_.” “Good evening to your curls, Nemorino,” said one. “Good evening, and a curtsey to your heart, Nemorino,” cried another. “Good evening, and a smile, Nemorino,” exclaimed a third. “Your humble servant, signor,” said a mean fourth. “THE ELIXIR!” “You’ll forget your old playmates now, signor.”