“Yes, because I know that gifts from you are dangerous. Why, but let us be logical! Would you have me purchase an ephemeral pleasure at the price of my own ruin, when I could get it at the cost of somewhat inconveniencing others?”
“You say that my gifts are dangerous. Yet, what do you really know about me, Florian? Again I entreat your pardon, Monsieur the Duke, but, after all, our acquaintance progresses.”
“I know nothing about you personally, Monsieur Janicot, beyond the handsomeness of your generosity. I only know the danger of accepting a free gift from any fiend; and you I take to be, in cosmic politics, a leader of the party in opposition.”
Janicot looked grave for a moment. He said:
“No, I am not a fiend, Monsieur the Duke; nor, for that matter, does your current theology afford me any niche.”
“Well, then,” asked Florian, with his customary fine frankness, “if you are not the devil, what the devil are you?”
Janicot answered: “I am all that has been and that is to be. Never has any man been able to imagine what I am.”
“Ah, monsieur, that sounds well, and, quite possibly, it means something. Of that I know no more than a frog does about toothache, but I do know they call you the adversary of all the gods of men—”
“Yes,” Janicot admitted, rather sadly, “I have been hoping, now for a great while, that men would find some god with whom a rational person might make terms, but that seems never to happen.”
“Monsieur, monsieur!” cried Florian, “pray let us have no scepticism—!”