“Don’t you know, monsieur, that we can’t rely on your Chambourdin? You know very well that he never keeps his word; when he promises to come, that’s the end of it. If we relied on him to take a part, he would spoil the whole performance. But we shall have Monsieur Mangeot and his sister; they are obliging and agreeable. Monsieur Mangeot takes the part of clowns and mimics very well; he plays carefully and always knows his part, and so does his sister.” “True, but as his sister is extremely hard of hearing, she always has to stand within two steps of the prompter, which is a great nuisance for the action of the play; and sometimes too she talks at the same time that her opposite is talking.--_Bigre!_ here comes that pain in the stomach again. What can it be? Did we have mushrooms yesterday, Lolotte?” “Mushrooms? there were some in the vol-au-vent we had; but everybody ate some of it, and it didn’t make anybody sick.” “That doesn’t prove anything; sometimes it doesn’t show itself until late; Eolinde, you haven’t a pain in your stomach, have you?” “On the contrary, papa.” “What do you mean by on the contrary; you either have a pain, or----” “No, s--s--since I--I say on the c--c--contrary!” “My child, your answers are very foolish.--If this doesn’t go away, I will tell the maid to prepare me an enema of marshmallow.” “Please remember that the maid is getting her dinner ready; she is looking after her kitchen fire, and how do you suppose that she can leave that to make you an enema?” “I don’t care for that; if I am ill, it seems to me that it is more important to take care of me than to get the dinner.” “But, monsieur, we have ten people to dinner, and it’s after four o’clock.” “Then, madame, go and prepare it for me yourself.” “Mon Dieu! just for a paltry pain in the stomach! Often it doesn’t amount to anything; go--somewhere, monsieur, and it will pass away.” “I shall not go anywhere, madame, because I have no desire to.” “Papa, suppose we should play _Pourceaugnac_?” “Hold your tongue, my child; you tire me!” “Dear me, Eolinde!” said Madame Glumeau with a sigh, “why should we play _Pourceaugnac_ on our little stage; we play it often enough in our family, as well as _Le Malade Imaginaire_!” Monsieur Glumeau was about to reply to his wife when the bell rang. “Company! company already!” cried stout Lolotte, “and I haven’t finished dressing!” “And my enema, madame! I must have it!” said her husband in an altered voice. “No doubt it’s my brother,” replied tall Eolinde in her turn; “it isn’t worth while to put ourselves in such a flurry for him!” XI THE ELUSIVE REMEDY But the salon door opened, and Monsieur Dufournelle and his wife appeared.