No, on the contrary, it was for his own pleasure. It suited him to a marvel, blague à part! And often, he had had a curious fancy--to be a demon himself, imagine! To serve in the cabaret for just one evening, by way of variety--for, as for himself, he gave less for a life without variety than did a fish for an apple. That was the reason he had sometimes thought of applying to the management for permission to--but then, of course, the idea was fantastic, and, without doubt, quite impossible. Oh, quite impossible, monsieur! But, after all, why not? Not the management, naturally. That was out of the question, it went without saying. But an obliging demon, perhaps--a bon type, who understood these eccentricities, as a man of the world--one who would consent to a brief illness--for one night only--and who would provide a substitute, _in the person of monsieur_! Fantastic--what?--rigolo, mon Dieu!--very rigolo, and, of course, quite impossible. In some mysterious fashion a louis suddenly made its appearance on the illuminated table. Oh, quite impossible, monsieur! Evidently, affairs did not arrange themselves like that. Monsieur must understand that the pourboires which one gained in Hell were enormous--but _enormous_! It would be to throw away a fortune, to give up one's place for an entire evening. For forty francs, perhaps--but then it was certain that monsieur would not care-- There was a tiny click upon the table-top, and the one louis had become two. A most surprising place, L'Enfer! Ah! But in addition, there were details to be arranged, and one could not talk with frankness in the cabaret. The doors at the further end swung open, and the demon of the gate made his appearance, ushering in a group of tourists. Maxime substituted two francs for the two louis, and rose. "That for the liqueurs, my friend," he said, "and what you say is true. The café Cyrano is a better place for talking. At midnight." Fifty-seven francs. The project had cost him fifty-seven francs, said the fallen angel to himself, as, twenty-four hours later, he dusted an illuminated table. What with his beard, and his spectacles, and two chartreuses in L'Enfer, and six demis at the café Cyrano--for the conference had been long--and, finally, the bribe to the obliging demon, revenge had cost him fifty-seven francs and it was not yet complete! But the prospects therefor were fair. He chuckled silently, with his eyes on the parti-wall which divided Hell from Heaven. It was eleven o'clock. Suddenly there was a stir in the cabaret. A voice was calling, "This way, chers damnés, to the Hall of the Infernal Visions!" and the clients were rising from their tables, and crowding out like sheep through a narrow door to the right. Almost immediately the place was empty, save for the fallen angel and two other demons, clearing away the liqueur glasses, and setting the stools in place. It was the dreamt-of moment. Maxime walked carelessly toward the door.