So the host bowed excuses to the Devil for having had all the luck, and went cheerfully the way Mrs. Death led, with all his fifteen thousand souls behind him. Thus they arrived at the gate of Paradise. There wasn’t so much business going on there as at the other place, and they had to ring before anyone appeared to open the door.
‘Who’s there?’ said St. Peter.
‘He of the four hundred years!’
‘And what is all that rabble behind?’ asked St. Peter.
‘Souls that I have won of the Devil for Paradise,’ answered the host.
‘Oh, that won’t do at all, here!’ said St. Peter.
‘Be kind enough to carry the message up to your Master,’ responded the host.
St. Peter went up to Jesus Christ. ‘Here is he to whom you gave four hundred years of life,’ he said; ‘and he has brought fifteen thousand other souls, who have no title at all to Paradise, with him.’
‘Tell him he may come in himself,’ said Jesus Christ, ‘but he has nothing to do to meddle with the others.’
‘Tell Him to be pleased to remember that when He came to my eating-shop I never made any difficulty how many soever He brought with Him, and if He had brought an army I should have said nothing,’ answered the host; and St. Peter took up that message too.