“Elegant appointments!” he grated his bones approvingly: “Very fine appointments! If I had lived in such rooms, I would be alive now.” “I like it, too,” said the devil and smiled. “And it is not expensive--it only costs some three thousands.” “Hem, that not expensive? I remember my largest work brought me 815 roubles, and I worked over it a whole year. But who lives here?” “Your wife,” said the devil. “I declare! That is good ... for her.” “Yes, and here comes her husband.” “She is so pretty now, and how well she is dressed! Her husband, you say? What a fine looking fellow! Rather a bourgeois phiz,--kind, but somewhat stupid! He looks as if he might be cunning,--well, just the face to please a woman.” “Do you want me to heave a sigh for you?” the devil proposed and looked maliciously at the author. But he was taken up with the scene before him. “What happy, jolly faces both have! They are evidently satisfied with life. Tell me, does she love him?” “Oh, yes, very much!” “And who is he?” “A clerk in a millinery shop.” “A clerk in a millinery shop,” the author repeated slowly and did not utter a word for some time. The devil looked at him and smiled a merry smile. “Do you like that?” he asked. The author spoke with an effort: “I had some children.... I know they are alive.... I had some children ... a son and a daughter.... I used to think then that my son would turn out in time a good man....” “There are plenty of good men, but what the world needs is perfect men,” said the devil coolly and whistled a jolly march. “I think the clerk is probably a poor pedagogue ... and my son....” The author’s empty skull shook sadly. “Just look how he is embracing her! They are living an easy life!” exclaimed the devil. “Yes. Is that clerk a rich man?” “No, he was poorer than I, but your wife is rich.” “My wife? Where did she get the money from?” “From the sale of your books!” “Oh!” said the author and shook his bare and empty skull. “Oh! Then it simply means that I have worked for a certain clerk?” “I confess it looks that way,” the devil chimed in merrily. The author looked at the ground and said to the devil: “Take me back to my grave!” ... It was late. A rain fell, heavy clouds hung in the sky, and the author rattled his bones as he marched rapidly to his grave.... The devil walked behind him and whistled merrily. * * * * *