"In the large house, opposite, lives an aged chevalier of the Fleece, who was formerly viceroy of Mexico. He has fallen sick; and, as he fears he is about to die, his viceroyalty begins to trouble him: true it is that he exercised his functions so as to justify his present inquietude; the chronicles of New Spain, unless they be belied, make no too honourable mention of his name. He has just started from a dream, whose horrid visions float before him still, and which will probably bring about their own fulfilment in his death." "Ah!" exclaimed Zambullo, "that must be something extraordinary." "You shall hear," replied Asmodeus: "there is really something in it rather singular. The sickly lordling dreamt he was in the valley of the dead, where all the victims of his injustice and inhumanity thronged fiercely round, and heaped upon him menaces and insult. They pressed upon, and would have torn him limb from limb; but, as their hot breath seemed to burn his very brain, he thought he took to flight, and saved himself from their fury. He had no sooner escaped, than he found himself in a large hall, hung all around with black cloth, where, sitting at a table upon which were three covers, he saw his father and his grandfather. His two dismal companions solemnly beckoned him to approach; and, with all the gravity which belongs to the dead, said to him: 'We have waited for you long: come, take your place beside us.'" "Oh! the wretched dream," interrupted the Student; "I could forgive the poor devil, for the fright he is in!" "To make up for it," resumed the Cripple, "his niece, who reposes in the apartment over his, passes the night in bliss: sleep brings to her its brightest illusions. She is a maiden of from twenty-five to thirty, ugly as myself, and not much better made. She dreams that her uncle, to whom she is sole heiress, has ceased to live; and that she sees, in swarms around her, amiable signors, who dispute for the honour of her slightest glance." "If I do not deceive myself," said Don Cleophas, "I hear some one laughing behind us." "It is no deception," replied the Devil; "it is a widow laughing in her sleep, a few paces from us. She is a woman who affects the prude, and who loves nothing so well as a little friendly scandal: she dreams that she is chatting with an ancient devotee, whose conversation could hardly fail to delight one of her taste. "I cannot help laughing in my turn, to see, in the room under that of the widow, an honest cit, who lives with difficulty on the little he possesses, but who dreams that he is picking up pieces of gold and silver, and that the more he gathers the more remain to glean: he has already filled a large coffer." "Poor fellow!" said Leandro; "he will not enjoy his treasure long." "No!" replied the Cripple; "and when he awakes he will be like the really rich, when dying: he will see all his wealth disappear."