“So? I am flattered,” said the Devil, and smiled gently, enchantingly.
At that smile I was ravished and transported, and a spasm of some rare emotion thrilled all the little nerves in me from my heels to my forehead. And yet the smile was not for me but rather somewhat at my expense.
“But,” he went on, “you must know it is not my custom to marry women.”
“I am sure it is not,” I agreed, “and I do not ask to be peculiarly favored. Anything that you may give me, however little, will constitute marriage for me.”
“And would marriage itself be so small a thing?” asked the Devil.
“Marriage,” I said, “would be a great, oh, a wonderful thing, and the most beautiful of all. I want what is good according to my lights, and because I am a genius my lights are many and far-reaching.”
“What do your lights tell you?” the man-devil inquired.
“They tell me this: that nothing in the world matters unless love is with it, and if love is with it and it seems to the virtuous a barren and infamous thing, still—because of the love—it partakes of the very highest.”
“And have you the courage of your convictions?” he said.