“I have worse than a corpse in the house,” said the innkeeper, crossing himself.
“Worse than a corpse?”
“Yes, kind gentleman, a thousand times worse! How shall I speak it? I have the Devil.”
The innkeeper made a piteous groan.
“I can hardly believe that,” said I. “He is not often seen in Spain nowadays.”
“Yes, it’s the Devil right enough,” said the innkeeper, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jerkin. “I am a ruined man.”
“How does he seem in appearance? Are there horns on his head and does fire proceed out of his mouth?”
“He has an eye,” said the innkeeper.
In spite of my incredulity I could not help shivering a little.
“The evil eye, your worship, the mal d’ojo. And he is so enormous! When he rises from his stool his head goes into the roof.”