why we shouldn't
arrive at a compromise. I am perfectly willing that you should have the
control over my soul for a limited number of years--I believe there are
precedents for such a course--let us say a million years."

"Ten million," said Mr. Satan, quietly but firmly.

"In that case," answered Mrs. Bergmann, "we will take no notice of leap
year, and we will count 365 days in every year."

"Certainly," said Mr. Satan, with an expression of somewhat ruffled
dignity, "we always allow leap year, but, of course, thirteen years will
count as twelve."

"Of course," said Mrs. Bergmann with equal dignity.

"Then perhaps you will not mind signing the contract at once," said Mr.
Satan, drawing from his pocket a type-written page.

Mrs. Bergmann walked to the writing-table and took the paper from his
hand.

"Over the stamp, please," said Mr. Satan.

"Must I--er--sign it in blood?" asked Mrs. Bergmann, hesitatingly.

"You can if you like," said Mr. Satan, "but I prefer red ink; it is
quicker and more convenient."

He handed her a stylograph pen.

"Must it be witnessed?" she asked.

"No," he replied, "these kind of documents don't need a witness."

In a firm, bold handwriting Mrs. Bergmann signed her name in red ink
across the sixpenny stamp. She half expected to hear a clap of thunder
and to see Mr. Satan disappear, but nothing of the kind occurred. Mr.
Satan took the document, folded it, placed it in his pocket-book, took
up his hat and gloves, and said:

"Mr. William Shakespeare will call to luncheon on Thursday week. At what
hour is the luncheon to be?"

"One-thirty," said Mrs. Bergmann.

"He may be a few minutes late," answered Mr. Satan. "Good afternoon,
madam," and he bowed and withdrew.

Mrs. Bergmann chuckled to herself when she was alone. "I have done
him," she thought to herself, "because ten million years in eternity
is nothing. He might just as well have said one second as ten million
years, since anything less than eternity in eternity is nothing. It is
curious how stupid the devil is in spite of all his experience. Now I
must think about my invitations."

II

The morning of Mrs. Bergmann's luncheon had arrived. She had asked
thirteen men and nine women.

But an hour before luncheon an incident happened which nearly drove Mrs.
Bergmann distracted. One of her guests, who was also one of her most
intimate friends, Mrs. Lockton, telephoned to her saying she had quite
forgotten, but she ha