His guests shivered again. A strange dullness, 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 no
longer be beautiful.
"Yes, friends, we are old again," said Dr. Heidegger; "and lo! the Water
of Youth is all lavished on the ground. Well--I bemoan it not; for if
the fountain gushed at my very doorstep, I would not stoop to bathe my
lips in it--no, though its delirium were for years instead of moments.
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