y, and our young laurels were
not soaked in blood or tears. Maurice, I did all I could to protect
your innocence, but I could not prevent your losing it at the age of
fourteen. Afterwards I regretfully saw you loving women of all sorts, of
divers ages, by no means beautiful, at least in the eyes of an angel.
Saddened at the sight, I devoted myself to study; a fine library offered
me resources rarely met with. I delved into the history of religions;
you know the rest."

"But now, my dear Arcade," concluded young d'Esparvieu, "you have lost
your position, your situation, you are entirely without resource. You
have lost caste, you are off the lines, a vagabond, a bare-footed
wanderer."

The Angel replied bitterly that, after all, he was a little better clad
at present than when he was wearing the slops of a suicide.

Maurice alleged in excuse that when he dressed his naked angel in a
suicide's slops, he was irritated with that angel's infidelity. But it
was useless to dwell on the past or to recriminate. What was really
needful was to consider what steps to take in future.

And he asked:

"Arcade, what do you think of doing?"

"Have I not already told you, Maurice? To fight with Him who reigns in
the heavens, dethrone Him, and set up Satan in His stead."

"You will not do it. To begin with it is not the opportune moment.
Opinion is not with you. You will not be in the swim, as papa says.
Conservatism and authority are all the go nowadays. We like to be ruled,
and the President of the Republic is going to parley with the Pope. Do
not be obstinate, Arcade. You are not as bad as you say. At bottom you
are like the rest of the world, you adore the good God."

"I thought I had already explained to you, Maurice, that He whom you
consider God is actually but a demiurge. He is absolutely ignorant of
the divine world above him, and in all good faith believes himself to be
the true and only God. You will find in the _History of the Church_, by
Monsignor Duchesne--Vol. I, page 162--that this proud and narrow-minded
demiurge is named Ialdabaoth. My child, so as not to ruffle your
prejudices and to deal gently with your feelings in future, that is the
name I shall give him. If it should happen that I should speak of him to
you, I shall call him Ialdabaoth. I must leave you. Adieu."

"Stay----"

"I cannot."

"I shall not let you go thus. You have deprived me of my guardian angel.
It is for you to repair the injury you have