Came startling interpolation: “All has been overheard.”
The words were spoken in a voice which both recognized. There materialized to their vision the superb face and figure of His Satanic Majesty. He was seated between them.
“Eavesdropping is old stuff, I know,” he remarked easily, “but it never ceases to be.”
“It was you who forced me aside?” Dolores struggled with her indignation. “I didn’t know you could make yourself invisible.”
“Surest thing you didn’t know, then. Turning oneself on or off is a trick that our late angel did not lose in his fall. Fancy one of the Cherubim reduced to turning himself off and on in lowlands like Gehenna!”
With angry intolerance, he faced toward General Sam. “What’s this you were saying about me? A weakness—I?”
“A man’s weakness for his woman is his strength,” the soldier-soul contended.
“Your tongue tangles when you measure my strength by that of men. I am——” and Satan’s glance slashed out like a sword—“I am the Destroyer. Fool, fear me!” Irritably he added: “Who do you think you are—Prometheus unbound? Why do you suppose I promoted you if not to get rid of you without breaking my pact with Dame Dolores? Get yourself to the nearest army camp, and make believe you’ve earned your commission. See you stay there, too, until I send for you.”
“But what about my appointment in the palace? Who will hold the bowl for Your Highness’ tears?”
The King arose as though further enraged by the reminder, then succumbed to a sort of paroxysm so violent that his utterance was impeded.