_Devil_. I guessed, from your beginning, how you would end. I suppose you verily believe that you have brought the Devil into a quandary; but of this anon. Your prince shall be for the present a thoroughly honest fellow. I will tell you nothing of the result of the observations I have made upon him; for, from what I have learnt at the minister's, there is something going forward which will soon give you ocular demonstration of his worth; till then keep the idea you have formed of him in your bosom, and tell me what is your opinion of Count C., his favourite. _Faustus_. Curse it: he is the only person here whom I cannot comprehend. He is the bosom friend of the Prince, and yet is as slippery as an eel, which always escapes through your fingers; and as smooth as a woman is towards her husband when she has resolved to deceive him. But perhaps he is obliged to conceal the emotions of his soul, lest some of those spies who are always hanging round the favourites of princes should take advantage of him. _Devil_. His soul! Dost think then, Faustus, that a man who so studiously endeavours to disguise himself has a breast that would bear the light? Never trust him in whom art and subtlety have so far overcome animal nature, that even the signs of his instinct and his sensations are extinguished. When that which works and ferments within you shows itself no more in your face, in your eyes, and in your actions, you are no longer what nature formed you; but are become the most dangerous brutes on the earth. _Faustus_. And is the Count such a being as you have described? _Devil_. The Count is a man who has travelled much and has made the tour of the courts of Europe, has smoothed down the rugged man, and has sacrificed the noble feelings of his heart at the cold shrine of reason; in short, one of those calculating heads who laugh at your ideal virtue, and act with men like the potters, who dash the work of their hands to pieces if it does not please their fancy. He is one of those who think themselves justified, by their experience, to consider the entire race of men as a pack of wolves who will devour all who put confidence in them. Nothing delights him more than to carry on an intricate state-plot; and he treats a maiden as he does a rose which he plucks from the stalk,--inhales the sweetness, and then very coolly treads it under foot. _Faustus_. Malicious devil! and can the man thou hast depicted to me be the bosom friend of the Prince of ---? _Devil_. Time will show what he is to him. I tell thee there is something going forward. Didst thou, by the by, observe the minister this evening? _Faustus_. He appeared sad and melancholy.