ler in the neighbourhood was in the habit of holding Sabbats,
was seized with a burning desire to attend one. Consequently, in
opposition to the advice of his friends, he saw the miller, and, by dint
of prodigious bribing, finally persuaded the latter to permit him to
attend one of the orgies. But the miller made one stipulation--the
Vicomte was on no account to carry firearms; and to this the latter
readily agreed. When, however, the eventful night arrived, the Vicomte,
becoming convinced that it would be the height of folly to go to a
notoriously lonely spot, in the dark, and unarmed, concealed a brace of
pistols under his clothes. On reaching the place of assignation, he
found the miller already there, and on the latter enveloping him in a
heavy cloak, the Vicomte felt himself lifted bodily from the ground and
whirled through the air. This sensation continued for several moments,
when he was suddenly set down on the earth again and the cloak taken off
him. At first he could scarcely make out anything owing to a blaze of
light, but as soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the illumination, he
perceived that he was standing near a huge faggot fire, around which
squatted a score or so of the most hideous hags he had ever conceived
even in his wildest imagination. After going through a number of strange
incantations, which were more or less Greek to the Vicomte, there was a
most impressive lull, that was abruptly broken by the appearance of an
extraordinary and alarming-looking individual in the midst of the
flames. All the witches at once uttered piercing shrieks and prostrated
themselves, and the Vicomte then realised that the remarkable being who
had caused the commotion was none other than the devil. Yielding to an
irresistible impulse, but without really knowing what he was doing, the
Vicomte whipped out a pistol, and, pointing at Mephistopheles, fired. In
an instant, fire and witches vanished, and all was darkness and silence.

Terrified out of his wits, the Count sank on the ground, where he
remained till daylight, when he received another shock, on discovering,
stretched close to him, the body of the miller with a bullet wound in
his forehead. Flying from the spot, he wandered on and on, until he
came to a cottage, at which he inquired his way home. And here another
surprise awaited him. For the cottagers, in answer to his inquiries,
informed him that the nearest town was not Toulouse but Bordeaux, and if
he went on