hat I feel in
particularly good spirits this morning, I should resent your ill-timed
remarks and leave you to end your miserable existence with rope or
pistol," and Satan pantomimed both suicidal contingencies.

"Do you want the violin or not?"

"I might look at it," said Diotti, resolving mentally that he could go
so far without harm.

"Very well," said Satan. He gave a long whistle.

An old man, bearing a violin case, came within the room. He bowed to
the wondering Diotti, and proceeded to open the case. Taking the
instrument out the old man fondled it with loving and tender
solicitude, pointing out its many beauties--the exquisite blending of
the curves, the evenness of the grain, the peculiar coloring, the
lovely contour of the neck, the graceful outlines of the body, the
scroll, rivaling the creations of the ancient sculptors, the solidity
of the bridge and its elegantly carved heart, and, waxing exceedingly
enthusiastic, holding up the instrument and looking at it as one does
at a cluster of gems, he added, "the adjustment of the strings."

"That will do," interrupted Satan, taking the violin from the little
man, who bowed low and ceremoniously took his departure. Then the
devil, pointing to the instrument, asked: "Isn't it a beauty?"

The musician, eying it keenly, replied: "Yes, it is, but not the kind
of violin I play on."

[Illustration]

"Oh, I see," carelessly observed the other, "you refer to that extra
string."

"Yes," answered the puzzled violinist, examining it closely.

"Allow me to explain the peculiar characteristics of this magnificent
instrument," said his satanic majesty. "This string," pointing to the
G, "is the string of pity; this one," referring to the third, "is the
string of hope; this," plunking the A, "is attuned to love, while this
one, the E string, gives forth sounds of joy.

"You will observe," went on the visitor, noting the intense interest
displayed by the violinist, "that the position of the strings is the
same as on any other violin, and therefore will require no additional
study on your part."

"But that extra string?" interrupted Diotti, designating the middle
one on the violin, a vague foreboding rising within him.

"That," said Mephistopheles, solemnly, and with no pretense of
sophistry, "is the string of death, and he who plays upon it dies at
once."

"The--string--of--death!" repeated the violinist almost inaudibly.

"Yes, the string of death," Satan repea