furnished an anecdote.

"As for me," said the grocer, "I had a dog who was always sick when the
month began on a Friday."

"We were fourteen children," observed the justice of the peace. "I was
born on the 14th, my marriage took place on the 14th, and my saint's-day
falls on the 14th. Explain this to me."

Beljambe had often reckoned in a dream the number of travellers he would
have next day at his inn; and Petit told about the supper of Cazotte.

The cure then made this reflection:

"Why do we not see into it quite easily?"

"The demons--is that what you say?" asked Vaucorbeil.

Instead of again opening his lips, the abbe nodded his head.

Marescot spoke of the Pythia of Delphi.

"Beyond all question, miasmas."

"Oh! miasmas now!"

"As for me, I admit the existence of a fluid," remarked Bouvard.

"Nervoso-siderial," added Pecuchet.

"But prove it, show it, this fluid of yours! Besides, fluids are out of
fashion. Listen to me."

Vaucorbeil moved further up to get into the shade. The others followed
him.

"If you say to a child, 'I am a wolf; I am going to eat you,' he
imagines that you are a wolf, and he is frightened. Therefore, this is a
vision conjured up by words. In the same way the somnambulist accepts
any fancies that you desire him to accept. He recollects instead of
imagining, and has merely sensations when he believes that he is
thinking. In this manner it is possible for crimes to be suggested, and
virtuous people may see themselves ferocious beasts, and involuntarily
become cannibals."

Glances were cast towards Bouvard and Pecuchet. Their scientific
pursuits were fraught with dangers to society.

Marescot's clerk reappeared in the garden flourishing a letter from
Madame Vaucorbeil.

The doctor tore it open, turned pale, and finally read these words:

"_I am sewing ribbons on a straw hat._"

Amazement prevented them from bursting into a laugh.

"A mere coincidence, deuce take it! It proves nothing."

And as the two magnetisers wore looks of triumph, he turned round at the
door to say to them:

"Don't go further. These are risky amusements."

The cure, while leading away his beadle, reproved them sternly:

"Are you mad? Without my permission! Practices forbidden by the Church!"

They had all just taken their leave; Bouvard and Pecuchet were talking
to the schoolmaster on the hillock, when Marcel rushed from the orchard,
the bandage of his chin undone, and stuttered:

"Cured