To-day our usher came to me to insist that I should go to the Department; he said it was more than three weeks since I had been there. I went, just for a joke. The chief of the section thought that I should bow to him and make excuses; but I glanced at him with indifference, neither too sternly nor too graciously, and sat down at my place as if I observed nothing. I looked round at all the rag-tag-and-bob-tail, and thought, “Oh! if you knew who is sitting with you.... Good heavens! what a fuss there would be! And the chief of the section himself would begin bowing and scraping to me just as he does now to the director.” They laid some papers before me, telling me to make an extract; but I did not so much as touch them with a finger. A few minutes afterwards they all began bustling about, saying that the director was coming. Several of the officials hurried out, one after another, to present themselves to him; but I never moved. When he passed through our section they all buttoned up their coats; but I took no notice whatsoever. The director! What’s he? Do they think I’m going to stand up before him? Never! What sort of director is he? He’s a dummy, not a director; an ordinary, common dummy, like a dummy in a barber’s shop, and nothing else at all. The most amusing thing of all was when they handed me a paper to sign. They thought I was going to write at the very bottom of the sheet, “Clerk So-and-so.” I daresay! I signed, in the most conspicuous place, just where the Director of the Department signs, “Ferdinand VIII.” It was worth while to see what a reverential silence there was! However, I just waved my hand to them and said, “You needn’t trouble about tokens of allegiance,” and went away. I went straight to the director’s house. He was not at home, and the footman did not want to let me in, but I said something to him that made him just collapse. I went straight into her dressing-room. She was sitting before the looking-glass, but started up and shrank away from me. I did not tell her, however, that I am the king of Spain; I only told her that there lies before her such happiness as she cannot even imagine; and that, in spite of the snares of our foes, we shall be together. I did not want to say any more than that, and therefore went away. Oh! what a wily being is woman! It is only now I have fully understood what woman really is. Up till now no one has ever known with whom she is in love. I am the first to discover it. Woman is in love with the devil. Yes, it is a fact. Physiologists write all sorts of nonsense; but really she loves no one and nothing but the devil. There, you see, she sits in the dress-circle with her opera-glass; do you think she’s looking at that fat man with the star on his breast? Not a bit of it! She’s looking at the devil behind his back. The devil is hidden in the fat man’s coat. There! he is beckoning to her with his finger! And she’ll marry him—she’ll certainly marry him! All