“Jarjaye, I have no leisure to listen to thee: I must go and open to a poor sweeper whose ass has just sent him to Paradise with a kick.”
“Oh, great Saint Peter, since you have been so kind, and looking costs nothing, I beg you let me just peep into the Paradise which they say is so beautiful.”
“I will consider it—presently, ugly Huguenot that thou art!”
“Now come, Saint Peter, just remember that down there at Tarascon my father, who is a fisherman, carries your banner in the procession, and with bare feet——”
“All right,” said the saint, “for your father’s sake I will allow it, but see here, scum of the earth, it is understood that you only put the end of your nose inside.”
“That is enough.”
Then the celestial porter half opening the door said to Jarjaye:
“There—look.”
But he, suddenly turning his back, stepped into Paradise backwards.
“What are you doing?” asked Saint Peter.