"Would you have it transformed to millions of animalculæ, each to teem with life, and sensation the most acute, and continued in pain throughout eternity?" "Aye, and longer, and for such sweet revenge I'd punish my own soul with his." "Meet me to-morrow night, we'll fix it; success is certain." Farragio hesitated, he was afraid of his accomplice; more than once he had suspected the smell of brimstone, and would have given worlds to be relieved from such acquaintanceship. "Meet me to-morrow night," repeated the impatient little gentleman in a voice of thunder. "At what hour?" "Nine." Farragio was about to offer an excuse, but the threatening aspect of his companion, and the remembrance of his misery warned him to acquiesce. He replied "I'll meet you," and the little gentleman disappeared. At nine the confederates met, punctual to their engagement. Farragio was there through fear, the little stranger to effect some deeply hidden purpose. They talked of science and the arts, of philosophers, philosophy and religion. The little gentleman appeared to be perfect master of every subject, and astonished Farragio with his loquacity. He drank wine, and was much more familiar than at any previous visit; he sang, danced and left the impression of his foot as before. Farragio had prepared for the entertainment of his guest, and for two hours they rioted in the profusion of sweetmeats and wine, furnished from the sideboard and cellar of Incholese. At length said the little gentleman, "Mr. Farragio, I am happy of your acquaintance." "Not at all," answered Farragio, whose vanity had been considerably excited. "And you shall be happy of mine." "And if my revenge shall be fully and entirely gratified, I'll thank you from my soul." "And _with_ your soul." "With all my soul."