Satan: Black.
Antoninus: No, no, no! I did not mean her hair. No, no. I meant the flowers.
Satan: Yellow, Antoninus.
Antoninus (flurried): Ah, of course, yes, yes.
Satan: Sixteen and seventeen and fifteen, and another of sixteen. All young girls. The age for you, Antoninus, if I make you twenty. Just the age for you.
Antoninus: You—you cannot.
Satan: All things are possible unto me except salvation.
Antoninus: How?
Satan: Give me your gaud. Then meet me at any hour between star-shining and cock-crow under the big cherry tree, when the moon is waning.
Antoninus: Never.