"What condition?" murmured the poor Abbé.
"That you trust yourself entirely to me until we reach the place of meeting."
"Prince, let go my hand! You are hurting me! I will promise to do as you say when I want to go to your infernal meeting."
He wrenched his hand away, pulled down the carriage window and let the cold night air in.
"Pomerantseff, you are a madman; you are dangerous. Why the devil did you grasp my hand in that way? My arm is numb."
The Prince laughed.
"It is only electricity. I was determined, since you doubted the existence of the devil, to make you promise to come and see him."
"I never promised!" exclaimed the Abbé. "I only promised to trust myself to you if the horrible desire should ever seize me to investigate your mad words further. But you need not be afraid of that. God forbid I should indulge in such folly!"
The Prince smiled.
"God has nothing to do with this," he remarked simply. "You will come."