what they are. And this poor little truth has
sufficed to prove to me that He in whom I blindly believed is not
believable, and that men and angels have been deceived by the lies of
Ialdabaoth."

"There is no Ialdabaoth. There is God. Come, Arcade, do the right thing.
Renounce these follies, these impieties, dis-incarnate yourself, become
once more a pure Spirit, and resume your office of guardian angel.
Return to duty. I forgive you, but do not let us see you again."

"I should like to please you, Maurice. I feel a certain affection for
you, for my heart is soft. But fate henceforth calls me elsewhere
towards beings capable of thought and action."

"Monsieur Arcade," said Madame des Aubels, "withdraw, I implore you. It
makes me horribly shy to be in this position before two men. I assure
you I am not accustomed to it."

CHAPTER XI

RECOUNTS IN WHAT MANNER THE ANGEL, ATTIRED IN THE CAST-OFF
GARMENTS OF A SUICIDE, LEAVES THE YOUTHFUL MAURICE WITHOUT A
HEAVENLY GUARDIAN

"Reassure yourself, Madame," replied the apparition, "your position is
not as risky as you say. You are not confronted with two men, but with
one man and an angel."

She examined the stranger with an eye which, piercing the gloom, was
anxiously surveying a vague but by no means negligible indication, and
asked:

"Monsieur, is it quite certain that you are an angel?"

The apparition prayed her to have no doubt about it, and gave some
precise information as to his origin.

"There are three hierarchies of celestial spirits, each composed of nine
choirs; the first comprises the Seraphim, Cherubim, and the Thrones; the
second, the Dominations, the Virtues, and the Powers; the third, the
Principalities, the Archangels, and the Angels properly so called. I
belong to the ninth choir of the third hierarchy."

Madame des Aubels, who had her reasons for doubting this, expressed at
least one:

"You have no wings."

"Why should I, Madame? Am I bound to resemble the angels on your
holy-water stoups? Those feathery oars that beat the waves of the air in
rhythmic cadences are not always worn by the heavenly messengers on
their shoulders. Cherubim may be apterous. That all too beautiful
angelic pair who spent an anxious night in the house of Lot compassed
about by an Oriental horde--they had no wings! No, they appeared just
like men, and the dust of the road covered their feet, which the
patriarch washed with pious hand. I would b