"Give me your hand," said Christophe.
He would amuse himself by opening the trap-door of his realistic, tragic vision of life. Georges would draw away from it, and Christophe would shut it down again, laughing:
"How can you live like that?" Georges would ask.
"I am alive, and I am happy," Christophe would reply.
"I should die if I were forced to see things like that always."
Christophe would slap him on the shoulder:
"Fine athlete you are!… Well, don't look, if your head is not strong enough. There is nothing to make you, after all. Go ahead, my boy. But do you need a master to brand your shoulder, like a sheep? What is the word of command you are waiting for? The signal was given long ago. The signal to saddle has sounded, and the cavalry is on the march. Don't worry about anything but your horse. Take your place! And gallop!"
"But where to?" asked Georges.
"With your regiment to the conquest of the world. Conquer the air, master the elements, dig the last entrenchment of Nature, set back space, drive back death….
"Expertus vacuum Dadalus aera…."