venerable countenance in so painful a position on account of his being

a pimp; though I know well there are no sorceries in the world that

can move or compel the will as some simple folk fancy, for our will is

free, nor is there herb or charm that can force it. All that certain

silly women and quacks do is to turn men mad with potions and poisons,

pretending that they have power to cause love, for, as I say, it is an

impossibility to compel the will."

"It is true," said the good old man, "and indeed, sir, as far as the