“You might remove him from earth, however,” Janicot suggested, helpfully. “A thunderbolt is not expensive.”
“It has been considered. But the effect, we believe, would not upon the whole be salutary. It would discourage the pious in their efforts toward sanctity to observe that bolt coming from, of all quarters, heaven. Besides, as a saint, he must, directly after being killed, ascend to eternal glory. You ought to understand that we would be the last persons actually to hurry him.”
“I think I see,” said Janicot. “You are bound to stand by the Church as faithfully as I do, if not through quite the same motives. Now, I hold no brief for this saint. He has swindled me,—cleverly enough, but with that lack of common honesty which as a rule lends ambiguity to pious actions,—out of Madame Melior’s child. I name only the mother, because, as I understand—?”
He had turned to Florian, and Janicot’s raised eyebrows were sententious.
Florian answered them, “Yes, Monsieur Janicot; it appears that I have acquired an increase of grace through works of supererogation.”
“Ah! and I had thought you were ardent! The child, in any event, is a detail about which there is no hurry. I am not fond of children myself—”
And Florian marvelled. “Then, why—?”
“It is merely that my servants have a use for them. Yes, my servants make them quite useful, by adding the juice of water parsnip and soot and cinquefoil and some other ingredients. And I endeavor to supply my servants’ needs. However!”—and Janicot waved the matter aside,—“when I am beaten I acknowledge it. The disenchanted princess remains yours: and I shall have no claim upon you until”—here Janicot smiled again,—“until the great love between your wife and you has approached a somewhat more authentic fruition.”
“Monsieur Janicot,” replied Florian, “you set the noble example of confessing when one is beaten. I was very careful when we made the compact which secured me this flawlessly beautiful lady as my wife. I am no longer careful. I cannot live with her for another year, not for a month, not for a half-hour! As you perceive, at the bare thought I grow hysterical. I tell you I cannot face the thought that this is the woman whom I have worshipped so long! I am a broken man, and I repent of every crime I committed in order to get her. Therefore let us make a second compact, my dear Monsieur Janicot, a compact by which she will be taken away from me! And you may name your own terms.”
“Ah, but you are all alike!” sighed Janicot. “You palter and haggle about the securing of your desires: but once you have your desires, no price appears too high to rid you of them. I cannot understand my people, and my failure quite to comprehend them troubles me: yet I could have told you, Florian, the first day we met, that it would come to this. But you were that droll creature the romantic, the man who cherishes superhuman ideals. And I really cannot put up with ideals—” Janicot ceased from talking half as if in meditation. He now glanced from one to another of the company with a sort of friendly petulance. “However, why is everybody looking so solemn? I like to have happy faces about me.”