"They are," replied Asmodeus, "devotees, who have great reason to be agitated. There is in the next room a sick inquisitor. This venerable personage, who is about thirty-five years old, is attended by two of his dearest penitents, with untiring watchfulness. One is concocting his gruel, while the other at his pillow is employed in keeping his head warm, and is covering his stomach with a kind of blanket made of at least fifty lamb-skins." "What on earth is the matter with him, then?" asked Zambullo. "He has a cold in his head," answered the Devil; "and there is danger lest the disorder should extend to his lungs." [Illustration: the inquisitor nursed by two penitents] "The ladies whom you see in his antechamber have hastened, on the alarm of his indisposition, with all sorts of remedies. One brings, to allay his apprehended cough, syrups of jujubes, mallows, coral, and coltsfoot; another, to preserve the said lungs of his reverence, syrups of long-life, speedwell, amaranth, and the elixir vitæ; this one, to fortify his brain and stomach, has brought balm, cinnamon, and treacle waters, besides gutta vitæ, and the essences of nutmegs and ambergris; that offers anacardine and bezoardic confections; while a fifth carries tinctures of cloves, gilly-flowers, sunflowers, and of coral and emeralds. All these zealous penitents are boasting to the valet of the virtues of the medicines they offer; and each by turns, drawing him aside, and slipping a ducat in his hand, whispers in his ear: 'Laurence, my dear Laurence, manage so, I beg of you, that what I bring for the dear man may have the preference.'" "By Jupiter!" cried Don Cleophas, "it must be allowed that inquisitors--even sick inquisitors--are happy mortals." "I can answer for that," replied Asmodeus; "I almost envy them their lot, myself; and, like the son of Philip of Macedon, who once said that he would have been Diogenes, if he had not been Alexander, I can unhesitatingly say, that, if I were not a devil I would be an inquisitor." "But, Signor Student," continued he, "let us go! Let us away, to punish the ingrate who so ill-requited your tenderness." Zambullo instantly seized the end of the Demon's cloak, and a second time was whirled with him through the air, until they alighted on the house of Donna Thomasa. This frail damsel was seated at table, with the four gentlemen who, a few hours before, had so eagerly sought the acquaintance of Don Cleophas on the roof of her house. He trembled with rage, as he beheld them feasting on a brace of partridges and a rabbit, which, with some choice wine, he had sent to the traitress for his own supper; and, to add to his mortification, he perceived that joy reigned in the repast; and that it was evident, by the deportment of the lady, that the company of these scoundrels was much more agreeable to her than that of himself. "Oh! the wretches!" he cried, in a perfect fury, "to see them enjoying themselves at my expense! Vastly pleasant, is it not?"