Melancthe at last turned to Shimrod, and showed him a curious twisted smile. "Speak, Shimrod! Why are you here?"
"You recognize me, despite my disguise?"
Melancthe seemed taken aback. " ‘Disguise'? I notice no disguise. You are Shimrod, as meek, quixotic and indecisive as ever."
"No doubt," said Shimrod. "So much for my disguise; I cannot conceal my identity. Have you decided upon an identity for Melancthe?"
Melancthe made an airy gesture. "Such talk is beside the mark. What is your business with me? I doubt that you have come to analyze my character."
Shimrod pointed to the divan. "Let us sit; it is dreary work talking on both feet."
Melancthe gave an indifferent shrug and dropped down upon the divan; Shimrod seated himself beside her. "You are as beautiful as ever."
"So I am told."
"At our last meeting you had developed a taste for poisonous blossoms. Is this inclination still with you?"
Melancthe shook her head. "There are no more such blossoms to be found. I think of them often; they were wonderfully appealing; do you not agree?"
"They were fascinating, if vile," said Shimrod.
"I did not find them so. The colors were of great variety, and the scents were unusual."
"Still-you must believe me!-they represented the aspects of eviclass="underline" the many flavors of purulence, so to speak."
Melancthe smiled and shook her head. "I cannot understand these tedious abstractions, and I doubt if the effort would yield any amusement, since I am easily bored."
"As a matter of interest, do you know the meaning of the word ‘evil'?'"
"It seems to mean what you intend it to mean."
"The word is general. Do you know the difference between, let us say, kindness and cruelty?"
"I have never thought to notice. Why do you ask?"
"Because, for a fact, I have come to study your character."
"Again? For what reason?"
"I am curious to discover whether you are ‘good' or ‘bad'." Melancthe shrugged. "That is as if I were to ask whether you were a bird or a fish-and then expect an earnest answer."
Shimrod sighed. "Just so. How goes your life?"
"I prefer it to oblivion."
"How do you occupy yourself each day?"
"I watch the sea and the sky; sometimes I wade in the surf and build roads in the sand. At night I study the stars."
"You have no friends?"
"No."
"And what of the future?"
"The future stops at Now."
"As to that, I am not so sure," said Shimrod. "It is at best a half-truth."
"What of that? Half a truth is better than none: do you not agree?"
"Not altogether," said Shimrod. "I am a practical man, I try to control the shape of the ‘nows' which lie in the offing, instead of submitting to them as they occur."
Melancthe gave an uninterested shrug. "You are free to do as you like." Leaning back into the cushions, she looked out across the sea.
Shimrod finally spoke. "Well then: are you ‘good' or ‘bad'?"
"I don't know."
Shimrod became vexed. "Talking with you is like visiting an empty house."
Melancthe considered a moment before responding. "Perhaps," she said, "you are visiting the wrong house. Or perhaps you are the wrong visitor."
"Ha hah!" said Shimrod. "You seem to be telling me that indeed, you are capable of thought."
"I think constantly, day and night."
"What thoughts do you think?"
"You would not understand them."
"Do your thoughts bring you pleasure? Or peace?"
"As always, you ask questions I cannot answer."
"They seem simple enough."
"For you, no doubt. As for me, I was brought naked and empty into the world; it was only required that I imitate humanity, not that I should become human. I do not know what sort of creature I am. This is the subject of my reflections. They are complicated. Since I know no human emotions, I have contrived an entire new compendium, which only I can feel."
"That is very interesting! When do you use these new emotions?"
"I use them continually. Some are heavy, others are light, and are named for clouds. Some are constant; others are fugitive. Sometimes they come to thrill me and I would like to keep them forever-just as I longed to keep the wonderful flowers! But the moods slip away before I can name them, and cherish them in my heart. Sometimes, often, they never come back, no matter how I yearn."
"How do you name these emotions? Tell me!"
Melancthe shook her head. "The names would mean nothing. I have watched insects, wondering how they name their emotions and wondering if perhaps they were like mine."
"I should think not," said Shimrod.
Melancthe spoke on unheeding. "It may be that instead of emotion, I feel sensation only, which I think to be emotion. This is how an insect feels the moods of its life."
"In your new set of emotions, do you have equivalents for ‘good' and ‘bad'?"
"These are not emotions! You are trying to trick me into talking your language! Very well; I shall answer. I do not know what to think of myself. Since I am not human, I wonder what I am and how my life will go."
Shimrod sat back and reflected. "At one time you served Tamurello: why did you do so?"
"That was the behest built into my brain."
"Now he is pent in a bottle, but still you are asked to serve him."
Melancthe frowned at Shimrod, mouth pursed in disapproval. "Why do you say so?"
"Murgen has informed me."
"And what does he know?"
"Enough to ask stern questions. How do these orders come to you?"
"I have had no exact orders, only impulses and intimations."
"Who prompts them?"
"Sometimes I think that they are my own contriving. When these moods come on me, I am exalted and I am fully alive!"
"Someone is rewarding you for your cooperation. You must be careful! Tamurello sits in a glass bottle, nose between his knees. Do you want the same for yourself?"
"It will not happen so."
"Is that how Desmei has instructed you?"
"Please do not utter that name."
"It must be spoken, since it is another word for ‘doom'. Your doom, if you allow her to use you as her instrument."
Melancthe rose to her feet and went to the window.
Shimrod spoke to her back: "Come with me once again to Trilda. I will purge you entirely of the green stench. We will thwart Desmei the witch. You will be wholly free and wholly alive."
Melancthe turned to face Shimrod. "I know nothing of any green stench, and nothing of Desmei. Go now."
Shimrod rose to his feet. "Today-think upon yourself and how you might want your life to go. I will return at sunset, and perhaps you will come away with me." Melancthe seemed not to hear. Shimrod left the room and departed the villa.
The day passed, hour by hour. Shimrod sat at his table before the inn watching the sun cross the sky. When it hung its own diameter above the horizon he set off up the beach. Presently he arrived at the white villa. He went to the front door and raising the knocker, let it fall.
The door opened a crack. Lillas the maid looked out at him.