I did all I could to protect your innocence, but I could not prevent your losing it at the age of fourteen. Afterwards I regretfully saw you loving women of all sorts, of divers ages, by no means beautiful, at least in the eyes of an angel. Saddened at the sight, I devoted myself to study; a fine library offered me resources rarely met with. I delved into the history of religions; you know the rest.”
“But now, my dear Arcade,” concluded young d’Esparvieu, “you have lost your position, your situation, you are entirely without resource. You have lost caste, you are off the lines, a vagabond, a bare-footed wanderer.”
The Angel replied bitterly that, after all, he was a little better clad at present than when he was wearing the slops of a suicide.
Maurice alleged in excuse that when he dressed his naked angel in a suicide’s slops, he was irritated with that angel’s infidelity. But it was useless to dwell on the past or to recriminate. What was really needful was to consider what steps to take in future.
And he asked:
“Arcade, what do you think of doing?”
“Have I not already told you, Maurice? To fight with Him who reigns in the heavens, dethrone Him, and set up Satan in His stead.”
“You will not do it. To begin with. it is not the
