And Melior took up the still sleeping child, without saying anything, but smiling very lovelily at Florian: and she and Hoprig entered into a golden cloud, and these two went away from Florian forever. And they went as a blurred shining: for Florian was recollecting a child’s desire to be not in all unworthy of these bright, dear beings; and Florian somewhat wistfully recalled that brave aspiring, and that glad ignorance, which nothing now could ever reawaken any more. _29._ _The Wonder Words_ “But now,” said Florian, “what now is to become of me, who have no longer any standards of beauty and holiness?” And he looked expectantly from Janicot to the archangel, and back again, to see when they would begin their battling for possession of the Duke of Puysange. Both spirits seemed almost unflatteringly unbellicose. “I have no instructions about you,” replied Michael. “I did not come hither in the way of official duty, but only at the summons of that fellow—It is really a very great comfort to reflect that, now he has gone back to the old time before he was canonized, he is no longer a saint! Still, as for you, your ways have been atrocious, and it is hardly doubtful that your end should be the same.” Florian at that had out the magic sword Flamberge. “Then, Monseigneur St. Michael, logic prompts one to make the best of this: and I entreat that you do me the honor of crossing blades with me, so that I may perish not ignobly.” “Come,” Michael said, “so this shrimp challenges an archangel! That is really a fine gesture.” “Yes, there is spirit in this romantic,” Janicot declared. “It seems to take the place of his intelligence. I cannot see it matters what becomes of the creature, but, after all, old friends will welcome any excuse to chat together. See, here is excellent wine in the saint’s cupboard, and over a cup of it let us amicably decide what we should do with this little Florian.” “It is well thought of,” Michael estimated, “for I have been working all day upon the new worlds behind Fomalhaut, with the air full of comet dust. Yes, that rapscallion Hoprig fetched me a long way, and I am thirsty.” So these two sat down at the table to settle the fate of Florian. Janicot poured for Florian also: and Florian took the proffered cup, and a chair too, which he modestly placed against the log-and-plaster wall at some distance from his judges. Florian’s judges made an odd pair. For resplendent Michael showed in everything as divine, and in his face was the untroubled magnanimity of a great prince of Heaven. But Janicot had the appearance of a working man, all a sober and practical brown, which would show no stains after the performance of any necessary labor, and his face was the more shrewd. “First,” said Janicot, “let us drink. That is the proper beginning of any dispute, for it makes each think his adversary a splendid fellow, it promotes confidence and candor alike.”