"Wait a bit," it whispered in his ear. "You were there only
yesterday. It can't fail, therefore, to seem extraordinary,
your calling again to-day. You must be prepared with an
excuse, an explanation. But suppose, when you arrive, suppose
that (like the lady in the ballad) she greets you with 'a
glance of cold surprise'--what then, my dear? Why, then, it's
obvious, you can't allege the true explanation--can you? If
she greets you with a glance of cold, surprise, you 'll have
your answer, as it were, before the fact you 'll know that there's
no manner of hope for you; and the time for passionate avowals
will automatically defer itself. But then--? How will you
justify your visit? What face can you put on?"
"H'm," assented Peter, "there's something in that."
"There's a great deal in that," said the demon. "You must have
an excuse up your sleeve, a pretext. A true excuse is a fine
thing in its way; but when you come to a serious emergency, an
alternative false excuse is indispensable."
"H'm," said Peter.
However, if there are demons in the atmosphere, there are gods
in the machine--(Paraschkine even goes so far as to maintain
that
there are more gods in the machine than have ever been taken
from it.") While Peter stood still, pondering the demon's
really rather cogent intervention, his eye was caught by
something that glittered in the grass at the roadside.
"The Cardinal's snuff-box," he exclaimed, picking it up.
The Cardinal had dropped his snuff-box. Here was an excuse,
and to spare. Peter rang the bell.