“Well, let us go and show him,” said St. Thomas, who was already growing angry. And they journeyed from star to star, and in a few minutes had traversed all the Milky Way and the most distant starry systems. Nothing, not a sign of life. They did not even encounter a flea, for all the numerous globes they surveyed. Pertinax was horrified.
“This is the Creation!” he exclaimed; “what solitude! Come, show me the Earth; I want to see that privileged region; by what I conjecture, all modern cosmography is a lie, the Earth is still, and the centre of all the celestial vault; and round her revolve the suns and planets, and she is the largest of all the spheres....”
“Not at all,” replied St. Thomas; “astronomy is not mistaken; the earth revolves round the sun, and you will soon see how insignificant she appears. Let us see if we can find her amongst all that crowd of stars. You look for her, St. Job; you have plenty of patience.”
“I will!” exclaimed the Saint of the potsherd, as he hooked his spectacles round his ears.
“It is like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay!... I see her! there she goes! look! look how small! she looks like a microbe!”
Pertinax looked at the Earth and sighed.
“And are there no inhabitants except on that mote?”
“Nowhere else.”
“And the rest of the Universe is empty?”
“Empty.”