“I perceive,” said the Student, “a man tossing uneasily in his sleep, and from time to time crying out as one does to a horse when it is restive, or rather as men cry to horses which they can hardly control.” “I am well acquainted with him,” said the Devil. “He is one of my most earnest clients, but in nothing does he divert me more than in these nightmares of his wherein he cries ‘Whoa there! Steady, old girl!’ And again, ‘Now then! Now then!’ not omitting from time to time, ‘You damned brute!’ and a cuff upon his pillow.” “To what, my dear Asmodeus, do we owe this diversion?” asked the Student wonderingly. “He seems to be a wealthy man, if we may judge by the house in which we see him and the furniture of the room in which he so painfully sleeps. And surely there is nothing upon his mind?” “You are wrong,” said the Devil; “there is upon his mind a most weighty matter, for he considers it a necessity in his position to ride every morning along the soft road especially prepared for that exercise upon the banks of the Manzanares, where he may meet the wealth and fashion of Madrid occupied in the same pastime. But unfortunately for him he is wholly devoid of the art of equitation and stands in as much terror of his mount as does a lady of her dressmaker. For one hour, therefore, of every day, he suffers such tortures that I greatly fear we shall not be able to add to them appreciably in my dominions when the proper time arrives. But let us leave these wealthy people, whose foibles are, after all, much the same, and turn to the poorer quarters which lie south of the King’s Royal Palace.” In a few moments they had reached these and were examining a mean house not far from the Church of St. Alphonso, in a bare upper room of which a woman with a starved and anxious expression was writing, late as was the hour, at top speed. “Poor woman!” said the Student. “I perceive that she is one of those unhappy people whom grinding poverty compels to produce ephemeral literature which is afterwards printed and sold at one real for the divertisement of the populace of Madrid. I know of no trade more pitiful, and I can assure you the sight of her industry moves me to the bottom of my heart.” “The sight is indeed pitiful,” said the Devil, “to those at least who permit themselves the luxury of pity--a habit which I confess I have long ago abandoned. For you must know that in the company of Belphegor, Ashtaroth, and the rest even the softest-hearted of devils will grow callous. But more interesting to you perhaps than the sad necessities of her trade is the matter which she is at present engaged upon.” “What is that?” said the Student.