"In the next room, on the same side, lodges a surgeon convicted of having, in a fit of jealousy, drained the warm blood which wantoned in the veins of his handsome wife, after the model of the death of Seneca. He was yesterday tenderly questioned on the rack; and having confessed the crime of which he was accused, he let out the secrets of his profession, by detailing a very novel and interesting mode which he had especially adopted for increasing his practice. He stated that he had been in the habit of wounding persons in the street with a bayonet, and of then lancing himself into his house by a back-door. Of course the patient used to call out lustily at this unexpected operation; and as the neighbours flocked around at his cries, the surgeon, mingling with the crowd, and finding a man bathed in his blood, very charitably had him carried to his shop, and dressed the wound with the same hand that had given it.
"Although the rascally practitioner has confessed to this atrocity, for which a thousand deaths were not one too many, he still hopes that his life will be spared; and it is not improbable that it may be so, seeing that he is related to the lady who has the honour of clouting the little princes of Spain: besides which, he is the inventor of a marvellous wash, of which the secret would die with him, and which has the virtues of whitening the skin, and of giving to the wrinkled front the juvenile appearance of fifteen. Now, as this incomparable water serves as the fountain of youth to three ladies of the palace, who have united their efforts to save him, he relies so confidently on their credit at court, or rather on that of his wash, that he sleeps tranquilly in the soothing hope that he will awaken to the agreeable intelligence of his pardon."
"I perceive, upon a bed in the same room," said the Student, "another man, who appears to me to be sleeping peaceably enough; his business is not a very bad one, I expect." "It is a very ticklish affair, though," replied the Demon. "That cavalier is a gentleman of Biscay, who has enriched himself by the fire of a carbine: I will tell you how. About a fortnight ago, shooting in a forest with his elder and only brother, who was in possession of a large estate, he killed him, by mistake, instead of a partridge." "A very lucky mistake, that," cried Don Cleophas, laughing, "for a younger son." "Yes," replied Asmodeus: "but a collateral branch of the family, the members of which would have no objection to see the deceased's estate fall within their line, have disinterestedly prosecuted his murderer on the charge of having designedly shot him, that he might succeed to his property. The accused, however, immediately rendered himself into the hands of justice; and he appears to be so deeply afflicted by the death of his brother, that they can scarcely imagine him guilty of deliberately taking his life." "And has he really nothing with which to reproach himself, beyond his fatal awkwardness?" asked Leandro. "No," replied Asmodeus; "his design was innocent enough; but when an elder son is in possession of all the wealth of his family, I should certainly not advise him to make a shooting-party in company with his younger brother.