Then I caught my breath, for we were there.  There in the parlor, and Marget standing looking at us, astonished.  She was feeble and pale, but I knew that those conditions would not last in Satan’s atmosphere, and it turned out so.  I introduced Satan—­that is, Philip Traum—­and we sat down and talked.  There was no constraint.  We were simple folk, in our village, and when a stranger was a pleasant person we were soon friends.  Marget wondered how we got in without her hearing us.  Traum said the door was open, and we walked in and waited until she should turn around and greet us.  This was not true; no door was open; we entered through the walls or the roof or down the chimney, or somehow; but no matter, what Satan wished a person to believe, the person was sure to believe, and so Marget was quite satisfied with that explanation.  And then the main part of her mind was on Traum, anyway; she couldn’t keep her eyes off him, he was so beautiful.  That gratified me, and made me proud.  I hoped he would show off some, but he didn’t.  He seemed only interested in being friendly and telling lies.  He said he was an orphan.  That made Marget pity him.  The water came into her eyes.  He said he had never known his mamma; she passed away while he was a young thing; and said his papa was in shattered health, and had no property to speak of—­in fact, none of any earthly value—­but he had an uncle in business down in the tropics, and he was very well off and had a monopoly, and it was from this uncle that he drew his support.  The very mention of a kind uncle was enough to remind Marget of her own, and her eyes filled again.  She said she hoped their two uncles would meet, some day.  It made me shudder.  Philip said he hoped so, too; and that made me shudder again.

“Maybe they will,” said Marget.  “Does your uncle travel much?”

“Oh yes, he goes all about; he has business everywhere.”

And so they went on chatting, and poor Marget forgot her sorrow for one little while, anyway.  It was probably the only really bright and cheery hour she had known lately.  I saw she liked Philip, and I knew she would.  And when he told her he was studying for the ministry I could see that she liked him better than ever.  And then, when he promised to get her admitted to the jail so that she could see her uncle, that was the capstone.  He said he would give the guards a little present, and she must always go in the evening after dark, and say nothing, “but just show this paper and pass in, and show it again when you come out”—­and he scribbled some queer marks on the paper and gave it to her, and she was ever so thankful, and right away was in a fever for the sun to go down; for in that old, cruel time prisoners were not allowed to see their friends, and sometimes they spent years in the jails without ever seeing a friendly face.  I judged that the marks on the paper were an enchantment, and that the guards would not know what they were doing, nor have any memory of it afterward; and that was indeed the way of it.  Ursula put her head in at the door now and said: