ped the rising sun every
morning, in a room which had at least one window looking to the east.

A second reply bade her sleep seven hours in succession before she
sacrificed to the sun, each hour symbolizing one of the seven planets;
and before she went to sleep she was to take a bath in honour of the
moon, placing her legs in lukewarm water up to the knees. I then pointed
out the psalms which she was to recite to the moon, and those which she
was to say in the face of the rising sun, at a closed window.

This last direction filled her with admiration, "for," said she, "the
oracle knew that I should catch cold if the window were open. I will do
everything the oracle bids me," added the credulous lady, "but I hope you
will get me everything necessary for the ceremonies."

"I will not only take care that you have all the requisites, but as a
proof of my zeal for you, I will come and do the suffumigations myself
that you may learn how it is done."

She seemed deeply moved by this offer, but I expected as much. I knew how
the most trifling services are assessed at the highest rates; and herein
lies the great secret of success in the world, above all, where ladies of
fashion are concerned.

As we had to begin the next day, being the new moon, I called on her at
nine o'clock. As she had to sleep for seven successive hours before
performing the ceremonies to the rising sun, she would have to go to bed
before ten; and the observance of all these trifles was of importance, as
anyone can understand.

I was sure that if anything could restore this lady's voice a careful
regimen would do it. I proved to be right, and at London I received a
grateful letter announcing the success of my method.

Madame du Rumain, whose daughter married the Prince de Polignac, was a
lover of pleasure, and haunted grand supper-parties. She could not expect
to enjoy perfect health, and she had lost her voice by the way in which
she had abused it. When she had recovered her voice, as she thought, by
the influence of the genii, she laughed at anyone who told her that there
was no such thing as magic.

I found a letter from Therese at Madame d'Urfe's, in which she informed
me that she would come to Paris and take her son back by force if I did
not bring him to London, adding that she wanted a positive reply. I did
not ask for anything more, but I thought Therese very insolent.

I told Aranda that his mother would be waiting for us at Abbeville in a