“But, sir,” cried the tailor, running after him, “You’ve forgotten to let me take your measure.”
“Bah! what does that matter?”
“But, sir, I shall never be able to fit you if I’ve not got your measure.”
“Well then, take it,” said the gentleman in black, dismounting from his horse. “There!”
But imagine the poor tailor’s dismay! There were no legs to be seen. Do what he would, it was impossible to take a proper measure for trousers under such circumstances. A horrible suspicion flashed through his mind.
“It must be the Devil,” thought he to himself. “How shall I get rid of him?”
Alarmed, horrified, trembling in all his limbs, feeling his legs giving way under him, our poor tailor only got out of the scrape by stammering out these few words—
“Well, sir, your trousers shall be ready to-morrow at noon.”
“Look to yourself if they are not ready. I shall come and fetch them at your house,” answered the dark-visaged and black-coated individual, leaping on his horse and going on his way.