“Then”—a gaunt hand described a gesture of agitation—“the hour strikes!”
Victor looked bored.
“Who knows?” he replied, as who should say: “Does it matter?”
“But—Gott in Himmel—!”
“Sturm,” Victor interposed, critically, “if you Bolsheviki were a trifle more consistent, one might repose greater faith in your sincerity. But when one hears you deny the Deity in one breath and call on him by name in the next—!”
“A mere mode of speech,” Sturm muttered.
“If you must invoke a spiritual patron, why not Satan? Or don’t you believe in the Powers of Darkness, either?”
“I believe in you.”
“As temporal viceroy of Lucifer? Many thanks! But you were about to say—?”
“Nothing. That is—I was envying your poise, Excellency. You take things so coolly.”