able. The flickering flame of the lamp sent smoke and shadows across the barred window space, and stretched into thicker blackness in the comers. Right by the door Cœlestin watched the shadow grow thicker. Was it an illusion? He rubbed his eyes in order to see better. The shadows thickened into a form, and the form drew near to him. It was hidden in a brown robe of peculiar shape. The long, thin, yellow face resembled old parchment in the Cloister library. It came nearer and nearer and its steps were noiseless. Cœlestin looked straight at this phantom being; he did not feel the slightest fear. Now it stood beside him and looked down upon him with green, sparkling eyes.
“You are Satan!” declared Coelestin calmly, without turning his eyes away.
“You may not be mistaken,” replied the stranger hoarsely.
There was silence a while.
“What a miserable thing is life!” sighed Cœlestin.
“Miserable?” laughed the strange guest. “That is because you do not know it, my boy! The old complaint of children and good-for-nothings.
