I hope, continued the stranger, stroking down the face of his mule with his left hand as he was going to mount it, that you have been kind to this faithful slave of mine—it has carried me and my cloak-bag, continued he, tapping the mule’s back, above six hundred leagues.
⸺’Tis a long journey, Sir, replied the master of the inn⸺unless a man has great business.⸺Tut! tut! said the stranger, I have been at the Promontory of Noses; and have got me one of the goodliest, thank Heaven, that ever fell to a single man’s lot.
Whilst the stranger was giving this odd account of himself, the master of the inn and his wife kept both their eyes fixed full upon the stranger’s nose⸺By saint Radagunda , said the innkeeper’s wife to herself, there is more of it than in any dozen of the largest noses put together in all Strasburg! is it not, said she, whispering her husband in his ear, is it not a noble nose?
’Tis an imposture, my dear, said the master of the inn⸺’tis a false nose.
’Tis a true nose, said his wife.
’Tis made of fir-tree, said he, I smell the turpentine.⸻
There’s a pimple on it, said she.
’Tis a dead nose, replied the innkeeper.
’Tis a live nose, and if I am alive myself, said the innkeeper’s wife, I will touch it.
I have made a vow to saint Nicolas this day, said the stranger, that my nose shall not be touched till—Here the stranger, suspending his voice, looked up.⸻Till when? said she hastily.