pantaloons ever made by
Bourdon, the daintiest robe-de-chambre ever put together by Rombert--to
say nothing of the taking my hair out of paper--not to mention the
trouble I should have in drawing off my gloves?"

"Who am I?--ah, true! I am Baal-Zebub, Prince of the Fly. I took thee,
just now, from a rose-wood coffin inlaid with ivory. Thou wast curiously
scented, and labelled as per invoice. Belial sent thee,--my Inspector of
Cemeteries. The pantaloons, which thou sayest were made by Bourdon, are
an excellent pair of linen drawers, and thy robe-de-chambre is a shroud
of no scanty dimensions."

"Sir!" replied the Duc, "I am not to be insulted with impunity!--Sir! I
shall take the earliest opportunity of avenging this insult!--Sir! you
shall hear from me! in the meantime au revoir!"--and the Duc was bowing
himself out of the Satanic presence, when he was interrupted and brought
back by a gentleman in waiting. Hereupon his Grace rubbed his eyes,
yawned, shrugged his shoulders, reflected. Having become satisfied of
his identity, he took a bird's eye view of his whereabouts.

The apartment was superb. Even De L'Omelette pronounced it bien comme il
faut. It was not its length nor its breadth,--but its height--ah,
that was appalling!--There was no ceiling--certainly none--but a dense
whirling mass of fiery-colored clouds. His Grace's brain reeled as
he glanced upward. From above, hung a chain of an unknown blood-red
metal--its upper end lost, like the city of Boston, parmi les nues.
From its nether extremity swung a large cresset. The Duc knew it to be
a ruby; but from it there poured a light so intense, so still,
so terrible, Persia never worshipped such--Gheber never imagined
such--Mussulman never dreamed of such when, drugged with opium, he has
tottered to a bed of poppies, his back to the flowers, and his face to
the God Apollo. The Duc muttered a slight oath, decidedly approbatory.

The corners of the room were rounded into niches. Three of these were
filled with statues of gigantic proportions. Their beauty was Grecian,
their deformity Egyptian, their tout ensemble French. In the fourth
niche the statue was veiled; it was not colossal. But then there was a
taper ankle, a sandalled foot. De L'Omelette pressed his hand upon his
heart, closed his eyes, raised them, and caught his Satanic Majesty--in
a blush.

But the paintings!--Kupris! Astarte! Astoreth!--a thousand and the same!
And Rafaelle has beheld them! Yes, Raf