"But I have an idea," said Lord Falmouth; "suppose that the caprices and desires of humanity, by dint of satisfying themselves on the human race, had reduced the inhabitants of the world to two people in some far corner of this earth, a man who passionately loved a woman who detested him in return, and that Satan, according to his system, said to him: 'My terms are still the same; pronounce the redoubtable name, she will love you, but she will die, and you will have caused her death.' Should the man say the word?" "To pronounce the word would be to prove that he loved desperately," said I to Lord Falmouth. "Yes, if he were a good Catholic," said Madame de Pënâfiel; "because then he would have purchased love at the price of eternal punishment, without which it is only ferocious selfishness." "But, madame, permit me to observe that, since there is a question of Satan, it is evident that they would both be good Catholics." "You are quite right," replied Lord Falmouth, "and your observation reminds me of the joyful and hopeful exclamation of a poor man who was saved from shipwreck. On getting to land, the first thing he saw was a gallows. 'God be praised,' said he, 'I have landed in a civilised country.' "But," said Lord Falmouth, "is it not enough to bring one to the verge of despair, to think that even now there are some people so happily, so wonderfully endowed, that they spend three or four hours every morning trying to see the devil,--evoking and invoking the evil one? I lately came across one of those credulous individuals in the Rue de la Barillerie. I assure you he is perfectly convinced that one of these days he will succeed, and I must admit that I greatly envy him his credulity, for he has an occupation that he will never become tired of; for a constant desire sustained by unfailing hope seems to me to come very near to perfect happiness." "But," said I to Lord Falmouth, "did not your great poet Byron amuse himself with such follies at one time?" "Byron! Ah, do not speak to me of that man!" exclaimed the marquise, with a look of dislike that almost amounted to hatred. "Ah, take care, monsieur," said Lord Falmouth, smiling. "With no ill intention, you have called up a diabolical spirit, that madame la marquise will have to exorcise, for she detests him." I was quite astonished, for I was far from expecting to find Madame de Pënâfiel an anti-Byronian. On the contrary, everything that I had heard of her fantastic and bold character was quite in harmony with that disdainful and paradoxical genius. I therefore listened very attentively to the rest of her conversation. She continued, with a scornful smile: "Byron! Byron! so cruel and so desperate! What a hard and wicked heart! When we think how, by some inexplicable fatality, every youthful mind, with its wealth of imagination, wastes itself in admiration of this scornful and insatiable demon, it is enough to convince us of the law of contraries."