While he spoke, the
butterfly fluttered down from the doctor's snowy head, and fell upon
the floor.
His guests shivered again. A strange chillness, whether of the body
or spirit they could not tell, was creeping gradually over them all.
They gazed at one another, and fancied that each fleeting moment
snatched away a charm, and left a deepening furrow where none had been
before. Was it an illusion? Had the changes of a lifetime been crowded
into so brief a space, and were they now four aged people, sitting
with their old friend, Dr. Heidegger?
"Are we grown old again, so soon?" cried they, dolefully.
In truth they had. The Water of Youth possessed merely a virtue
more transient than that of wine. The delirium which it created had
effervesced away. Yes! they were old again. With a shuddering impulse,
that showed her a woman still, the widow clasped her skinny hands
before her face, and wished that the coffin lid were over it, since it
could be no longer beautiful.
"Yes, friends, ye are old again," said Dr. Heidegger, "and lo!
the Water of Youth is all lavished on the ground.
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