It not infrequently happened that our Satan did not at first use his power, and, by a refinement of wicked malice, would play the part of a kind man, a benefactor, taking a fiendish pleasure in hearing the benedictions with which his victims loaded him, leaving them for a long time in the error which led them to adore their benevolent friend; then, by degrees, according to his humour, he revealed himself slowly, never employing threats, rudeness, or passion, but, on the contrary, affecting an insinuating sweetness which in itself became frightful. Circumstances the most insignificant and puerile offered him a thousand means of tormenting the persons he held in his absolute power. For instance, he would arrive at the house of one of his vassals, so to speak. Perhaps the man was going with his wife and children to some family reunion, long before arranged. "I have come to dine with you without ceremony to-day, my friends," this Satan would say. "My God, M. Pascal! how sorry we are! To-day is my mother's birthday, and you see we are just getting ready to go to dine with her. It is an anniversary we never fail to celebrate." "Ah! that is very provoking, as I hoped to spend my evening with you." "And do you think it is less annoying to us, dear M. Pascal?" "Bah! you could very easily give up a family reunion for me. After all, your mother would not die if you were not there." "Oh, my dear M. Pascal, that is impossible! It would be the first time since our marriage that we failed in this little family ceremony." "Come, you surely will do that for me." "But, M. Pascal--" "I tell you, you will do that for your good M. Pascal, will you not?" "We would like to do it with all our heart, but--" "What! you refuse me that--me--the first thing I have ever asked of you?" And M. Pascal put such an emphasis on the word _me_ that the whole family suddenly trembled; they felt, as is vulgarly said, their master, and knowing of the strange caprice of the capitalist, they submitted sadly rather than offend the dreadful man upon whom their fate depended. They gave up the visit and improvised a dinner. They tried to smile, to have a cheerful air, and not to appear to regret the family festivity which they had renounced. But soon another fear begins to oppress their hearts; the dinner is becoming more and more sad and constrained. M. Pascal professes a sort of pathetic astonishment, as he complains with a sigh: "Come, now, I have interfered with your plans; you feel bitterly toward me, alas! I see it." "Ah, M. Pascal!" cried the unhappy family, more and more disquieted, "how can you conceive such a thought?" "Oh, I am not mistaken. I see it, I feel it, because my heart tells me so. Eh, my God! just to think of it! It is always a great wrong to put friendship to the proof, even in the smallest things, because they serve sometimes to measure great ones. I,--yes, I,--who counted on you as true and good friends!--yet it was a deception, perhaps."