Some papers were placed before me to make a précis of them. But I did not move a finger. A few minutes later there was a general commotion: the Director was coming. Many of the officials ran forward to attract his attention, but I did not budge. As he passed our section they all buttoned up their coats, but not I. A Director, indeed! That I should get up before him—never! And is he really a Director? He’s a cork, and not a Director. A cork, an ordinary cork, the kind you cork bottles with. What amused me most was when someone put a paper before me to countersign. They expected, no doubt, that I would put at the very bottom of the sheet, So-and-So, Clerk in Charge of the Table. Catch me! In the very central space, where the Director of the Department signs his name, I wrote “Ferdinand VIII”! You should have seen the religious silence that ensued! But I only waved my hand, and said: “I don’t insist on any signs of allegiance”; then I walked out. I went straight to the Director’s apartment. He was not at home. The footman did not want to let me in, but I said words to such effect that he let his hands drop. I found my way straight to her dressing-room. She was sitting before the looking-glass. When I came in she jumped up and stepped back. I did not, however, tell her that I was the King of Spain. I only said that there was happiness in store for her, such as she could have no idea of, and that in spite of the intrigues of enemies we should be united. That was all I wished to say, and I walked out. Oh, what a crafty creature woman is! Only now have I realized what woman is. Until now no one knew whom she was in love with. I have been the first to discover it. Woman is in love with the Devil. Yes, quite seriously. Physiologists write all sorts of nonsense saying that she is this or that,—but she loves nothing but the Devil. There she is, in a box of the first tier, fixing her opera-glass. You imagine she is looking at that fat man with decorations? Not at all; she is looking at the Devil, who is standing behind his back. Now he has hidden himself in the fat man’s coat. Now he is making signs to her. And she will marry him, sure enough.