“No, but he’s probably one of the last who will come to you. It won’t be long before Heaven is like an empty house, on account of its high rent. I’m going to build a cheap boardinghouse; in short, I’m going to set up my own church. I’ve had enough of my lack of organization, my haphazard, spur-of-the-moment kingdom. It’s time I won a complete and final victory. And so I have come to tell you this, in all loyalty, so that you can’t accuse me of any deception. Good idea, don’t you think?”

“You came to tell me, not seek my approval,” commented the Lord.

“Yes, you’re right,” replied the Devil. “But vanity likes to hear its master’s applause. True, in this case it will be the applause of a defeated master, and as such . . . Lord, I’m going down to Earth. I’m going to lay my foundation stone.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you want me to come and let you know how it all works out?”

“That won’t be necessary. Just tell me, since you’ve been so fed up with your lack of organization for so very long, why is it that you have only thought of founding a church now?”

The Devil gave a triumphant, mocking smile. He was savoring some cruel idea, some stinging remark stored away in the saddlebag of his memory which, in that brief instant of eternity, made him believe he was superior even to God. But he suppressed his laughter and said:

“I have only just concluded a study I began several centuries ago, and I see now that the virtues, those daughters of Heaven, are in many respects comparable to queens whose velvet mantles are edged with cotton fringes. Now, I propose to tug them by those fringes, and bring them all to my church; after them will come the queens dressed in purest silk . . .”

“Pompous old windbag!” murmured the Lord.

“Look here. Many of those bodies who kneel at your feet in churches throughout the world wear the bustles of drawing room and street; their cheeks are rouged with the same powder, their handkerchiefs carry the same scents, and their eyes sparkle with curiosity and devotion, torn between the holy book and the tempting mustache of sin. See the passion—or disdain, at least—with which that gentleman over there makes sure everyone knows about the favors he liberally bestows: clothes, boots, coins, or any of the other necessities of life. But I don’t want to seem to be dwelling on the little things; I am not talking, for example, about the smug serenity of this man here, president of a lay brotherhood, who, when taking part in any religious procession, piously carries pinned to his chest both your love and a medal. I have more important business to deal with . . .”