Clapping down the bottle, Israel said, "Come in."

It was the man of wisdom.

"My honest friend," said the Doctor, stepping with venerable briskness
into the room, "I was so busy during your visit to the Pont Neuf, that I
did not have time to see that your room was all right. I merely gave the
order, and heard that it had been fulfilled. But it just occurred to me,
that as the landladies of Paris have some curious customs which might
puzzle an entire stranger, my presence here for a moment might explain
any little obscurity. Yes, it is as I thought," glancing towards the
mantel.

"Oh, Doctor, that reminds me; what is O-t-a-r-d, pray?"

"Otard is poison."

"Shocking."

"Yes, and I think I had best remove it from the room forthwith," replied
the sage, in a business-like manner putting the bottle under his arm; "I
hope you never use Cologne, do you?"

"What--what is that, Doctor?"

"I see. You never heard of the senseless luxury--a wise ignorance. You
smelt flowers upon your mountains. You won't want this, either;" and the
Cologne bottle was put under the other arm. "Candle--you'll want that.
Soap--you want soap. Use the white cake."