Fleurant, my apothecary, is that his bills are always
civil. "The bowels of Mr. Argan." All the same, Mr. Fleurant, it is
not enough to be civil, you must also be reasonable, and not plunder
sick people. Thirty sous for a clyster! I have already told you, with
all due respect to you, that elsewhere you have only charged me twenty
sous; and twenty sous, in the language of apothecaries, means only ten
sous. Here they are, these ten sous. "Item, on the said day, a good
detergent clyster, compounded of double catholicon rhubarb, honey of
roses, and other ingredients, according to the prescription, to scour,
work, and clear out the bowels of Mr. Argan, thirty sons." With your
leave, ten sous. "Item, on the said day, in the evening, a julep,
hepatic, soporiferous, and somniferous, intended to promote the sleep
of Mr. Argan, thirty-five sous." I do not complain of that, for it
made me sleep very well. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen sous six
deniers. "Item, on the 25th, a good purgative and corroborative
mixture, composed of fresh cassia with Levantine senna and other
ingredients, according to the prescription of Mr. Purgon, to expel Mr.
Argan's bile, four francs." You are joking, Mr. Fleurant; you must
learn to be reasonable with patients; Mr. Purgon never ordered you to
put four francs. Tut! put three francs, if you please. Twenty; thirty
sous.
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