“Chapter XX of Book IX of Theophrastus of Eresus does in fact deal with aphrodisiacs,” said Marcueil, becoming more animated, and his eyes flashing behind his pince-nez, “but I repeat that I believe that neither the drug nor the country is important, and that there would be all the more reason for a white man. . . But,” he added, almost in an aside, “in a man from a strange country one would think of such prowess as less strange, less incredible, just because it does seem to be prowess!. . . In any case, what one man has done, another man can do.”

“Do you know who was the first to put your ruminations into words?” interrupted Mrs. Gough, who was well-read.

“My. . . ?”

“Exactly. Your sentence: ‘what one man has done. . . ’ ”

“Ah yes! but I wasn’t thinking of that. That’s to be found. . . well, of course,” said Marcueil, “in the Adventures of Baron Munchausen.”

“I don’t know that German,” said the general.

“A colonel, general,” whispered Mrs. Gough, “a colonel of red hussars – M. de Crac, in French.”

“Oh, I get it; tall tales,” said the general.

“Actually,” said Madame de Saint-Jurieu to Marcueil, “it would have been impossible to insinuate more wittily that the Indian’s record could only be beaten by. . . let me see. . . by that other redskin, or red hussar. . . with such an imagination!”

“So that is what you were driving at,” added Henriette Cyne, “and this is. . . where you have led us! You’ve closed the bidding most astutely, putting up as. . .”

“Highest bidder, go ahead and say it,” said Saint-Jurieu.

“. . . someone to whom words cost nothing.”

“All you need for that is a good loose tongue in your head,” said the general.

“Like in Africa,” said Henriette Cyne. “. . .but that was a silly thing for me to say.”

“Gentlemen,” said André Marcueil in a loud and ceremonious voice, “I believe that Colonel Baron Munchausen accomplished all that he claimed, and more.”

“Then the bidding is still open?” inquired Mrs. Gough.

“This is becoming a bit tiresome,” said Henriette Cyne.

“Come now, Marcueil,” said Bathybius, “it’s madness for a man to jump a pond on horseback, like your mythical baron, and then, midway to the other side, realizing he hadn’t enough of a running start, to bring both himself and his horse back to his starting point, keeping himself up in the air merely by tugging on his own pigtail.”

“It was the regulation in those days for all soldiers to wear their hair in a pigtail,” interrupted Arthur Gough, with more erudition than appropriateness.

“. . . It’s contrary to all physical laws,” concluded Bathybius.

“There’s nothing at all erotic about it,” observed the senator vaguely.

“Nor impossible,” retorted Marcueil.

“The gentleman is making fun of you,” said Pusice-Euprépie to her husband.

“The baron made only one mistake,” continued Marcueil, “and that was to relate his adventures after they had happened. I’ll agree that it is somewhat strange that they did happen. . .”