*

Antonio meanwhile had already been to prepare old Ambrosio and his
wife, telling them he was now sure of finding out the hideous old
woman again, and no doubt her daughter Crescentia also. The mother
readily believed him; but the father persisted in his doubts.

Even before the sun had set, the youth was again with his friend at
the door of the wise Castalio. The latter met them smiling, and said:
"Here, Antonio, take this paper: you will find noted down on it, in
what street, in what house, you may meet with the old crone. When you
have discovered her, you will no longer entertain any doubts about my
science."

"I am already convinced;" replied Antonio: "I was so even yesterday:
you are the wisest of mortals, and by the help of your art will make
me the happiest. I will go to seek for the old woman: and if
Crescentia is not dead or lost, I shall carry her to the arms of her
parents."

Powerfully excited and full of expectation he was about to depart in
haste; his hand was already on the door-knob; when a low timid knock
was heard on the outside, accompanied by a hoarse coughing and a
scraping of feet.

"Who's there?" cried Castalio; and, when the friends opened the door,
in came Beresynth, who immediately stationed himself in the middle of
the room, and with sundry antick bows and writhings of his features,
offered his services to the wise man.

"Who are you?" exclaimed Castalio, who had changed colour, and pale
and trembling had shrunk back a few steps.

"A villain he is, the fiend!" cried Antonio: "a magician, whom we must
put into the inquisition's hands. It is the accursed Beresynth
himself, whose name, my honoured friend, you have already heard, and
of whom I have told you."

"Think you so, young jackanapes?" said Beresynth with a sneer of the
deepest contempt. "With you, children, I have no business. Do you not
know me?" cried he turning to Castalio: "perhaps you have nothing for
me to do."

"How should I?" said Castalio with a faltering voice: "I never saw you
before. Leave me; I must decline your services. In this little house
of mine I have no room for any stranger."

Beresynth paced with his biggest strides up and down. "So, you don't
know me? It may be; folks alter a good deal sometimes; for no man is
always in his bloom. But, it strikes me, people ought not to forget
me, or to mistake me for any one else, quite so soon as they might
many of your smooth nicely painted ninnies.... And you to