“Is that so?” he said. “Morbleu! I am well armed to fight any one, but I must have a sword in my hand.”
He was soon provided with a good one, and the lady, seeing his extraordinary appearance, although her heart was lull of doubt and uncertainty, could not refrain from laughing, and the squire also.
“Now I commend myself to God,” he said. “I am going to try if I can get out of the house; but first black my face well.”
She did so, and recommended him to God, and the poor fellow, with the seat of the privy round his neck, a drawn sword in his hand, and his face blacker than charcoal, sallied out into the room, and by luck the first person he met was the husband, who was in such mortal fear at the sight of him—believing it was the Devil himself—that he tumbled full length on the floor and nearly broke his neck, and was for a long time in a swoon.
His wife, seeing him in this condition, came forward, and pretending to show much more fear than she really felt, supported him in her arms, and asked him what was the matter. As soon as he came to himself, he said in broken accents, and with a piteous air; “Did you see that devil I met.”
“Yes, I did,” she replied, “and I nearly died of fright at the sight.”
“Why does it come to our house?” he asked, “And who could have sent it? I shall not recover myself for a year or two, I have been so frightened.”
“Nor shall I, by God,” said the pious lady. “I believe it must mean something. May God keep us, and protect us from all evil fortune. My heart forebodes some mischief from this vision.”
Every one in the castle gave his or her version of the devil with a drawn sword, and they all believed it was a real devil. The good lady, who held the key of the mystery, was very glad to see them of that opinion. Ever after that the said devil continued to do the work that everyone does so willingly, though the husband, and everybody except a discreet waiting woman, were ignorant of the fact.