and puns--with a receipt for changing a red rose to a white rose."

I told him that I had fallen out with the roses for a long time, and
that, as to jokes, I was satisfied with those which I unconsciously
permitted myself to make in the course of my scientific labours.

The homunculus offered me his last book, with his last smile. He
said to me:

"Here is the Clef des Songes--the 'Key of Dreams'--with the explanation
of any dreams that anybody can have; dreams of gold, dreams of robbers,
dreams of death, dreams of falling from the top of a tower.... It
is exhaustive."

I had taken hold of the tongs, and, brandishing them energetically, I
replied to my commercial visitor:

"Yes, my friend; but those dreams and a thousand others, joyous or
tragic, are all summed up in one--the Dream of Life; is your little
yellow book able to give me the key to that?"

"Yes, Monsieur," answered the homunculus; "the book is complete, and
it is not dear--one franc twenty-five centimes, Monsieur."

I called my housekeeper--for there is no bell in my room--and said
to her:

"Therese, Monsieur Coccoz--whom I am going to ask you to show out--has
a book here which might interest you: the 'Key of Dreams.' I shall
be very glad to buy it for you."