A very quiet gentlemanly man, neatly dressed in black, made his appearance, to the surprise of all present, and bowed all round to the company. ‘I will not show my _credentials_,’ he said, blushing, and pointing to his hoofs, which were cleverly hidden by his pumps and shoe-buckles, ‘unless the ladies absolutely wish it; but I am the person you want, Mr. Gambouge; pray tell me what is your will.’ ‘You know,’ said that gentleman, in a stately and determined voice, ‘that you are bound to me, according to our agreement, for six months to come?’ ‘I am,’ replied the new-comer. ‘You are to do all that I ask, whatsoever it may be, or you forfeit the bond which I gave you?’ ‘It is true.’ ‘You declare this before the present company?’ ‘Upon my honour, as a gentleman,’ said Diabolus, bowing, and laying his hand upon his waistcoat. A whisper of applause ran round the room: all were charmed with the bland manners of the fascinating stranger. ‘My love,’ continued Gambouge, mildly addressing his lady, ‘will you be so polite as to step this way? You know I must go soon, and I am anxious, before this noble company, to make a provision for one who, in sickness as in health, in poverty as in riches, has been my truest and fondest companion.’ Gambouge mopped his eyes with his handkerchief--all the company did likewise. Diabolus sobbed audibly, and Mrs. Gambouge sidled up to her husband’s side, and took him tenderly by the hand. ‘Simon!’ said she, ‘is it true? and do you really love your Griskinissa?’ Simon continued solemnly: ‘Come hither, Diabolus; you are bound to obey me in all things for the six months during which our contract has to run; take, then, Griskinissa Gambouge, live alone with her for half a year, never leave her from morning till night, obey all her caprices, follow all her whims, and listen to all the abuse which falls from her infernal tongue. Do this, and I ask no more of you; I will deliver myself up at the appointed time.’ Not Lord G----, when flogged by Lord B---- in the House,--not Mr. Cartlitch, of Astley’s Amphitheatre, in his most pathetic passages, could look more crestfallen, and howl more hideously, than Diabolus did now. ‘Take another year, Gambouge,’ screamed he; ‘two more--ten more--a century; roast me on Lawrence’s gridiron, boil me in holy water, but don’t ask that: don’t, don’t bid me live with Mrs. Gambouge!’ [Illustration: A PUZZLE FOR THE DEVIL] Simon smiled sternly. ‘I have said it,’ he cried; ‘do this, or our contract is at an end.’