“You think that the Rosicrucians are satanizing?”

“They would like to, but they don’t know how.  They are limited to reproducing, mechanically, the few fluidic and veniniferous operations revealed to them by the three brahmins who visited Paris a few years ago.”

“I am thankful, myself,” said Mme. Carhaix, as she took leave of the company, “that I am not mixed up in any of this frightful business, and that I can pray and live in peace.”

Then while Des Hermies, as usual, prepared the coffee and Durtal brought the liqueur glasses, Gevingey filled his pipe, and when the sound of the bells died away—­dispersed and as if absorbed by the pores of the wall—­he blew out a great cloud of smoke and said, “I passed some delightful days with the family with whom Dr. Johannes is living.  After the shocks which I had received, it was a privilege without equal to complete my convalescence in that sweet atmosphere of Christian Love.  And, too, Johannes is of all men I have ever met the most learned in the occult sciences.  No one, except his antithesis, the abominable Docre, has penetrated so far into the arcana of Satanism.  One may even say that in France these two are the only ones who have crossed the terrestrial threshold and obtained, each in his field, sure results.  But in addition to the charm of his conversation and the scope of his knowledge—­for even on the subject in which I excel, that of astrology, he surprised me—­Johannes delighted me with the beauty of his vision of the future transformation of peoples.  He is really, I swear, the prophet whose earthly mission of suffering and glory has been authorized by the Most High.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Durtal, smiling, “but his theory of the Paraclete is, if I am not mistaken, the very ancient heresy of Montanus which the Church has formally condemned.”

“All depends on the manner in which the coming of the Paraclete is conceived,” interjected the bell-ringer, returning at that moment.  “It is also the orthodox doctrine of Saint Irenaeus, Saint Justin, Scotus Erigena, Amaury of Chartres, Saint Doucine, and that admirable mystic, Joachim of Floris.  This was the belief throughout the Middle Ages, and I admit that it obsesses me and fills me with joy, that it responds to the most ardent of my yearnings.  Indeed,” he said, sitting down and crossing his legs, “if the third kingdom is an illusion, what consolation is left for Christians in face of the general disintegration of a world which charity requires us not to hate?”

“I am furthermore obliged to admit,” said Des Hermies, “that in spite of the blood shed on Golgotha, I personally feel as if my ransom had not been quite effected.”

“There are three kingdoms,” the astrologer resumed, pressing down the ashes of his pipe with his finger.  “Of the Old Testament, that of the Father, the kingdom of fear.  Of the New Testament, that of the Son, the kingdom of expiation.  Of the Johannite Gospel, that of the Holy Ghost, the kingdom of redemption and love.  They are the past, present and future; winter, spring and summer.  The first, says Joachim of Floris, gives us the blade, the second, the leaf, and the third, the ear.  Two of the Persons of the Trinity have shown themselves.  Logically the Third must appear.”