Potato Peels, for his part, had hurried off to find his wife, his beloved Guili-guili, in order to help her. He was deeply worried about what might have happened to her. What degenerate torments had the little devils inflicted on her? Was she enduring some horrible abuse in molasses?

If Potato Peels was confused, absorbed by the thought of his wife’s possible and distressing situation, what could be said of her own fears? She had never seen him return home accompanied by a whole group of strangers. She scolded him a little at first. Was that not only natural?

— Potato Peels, just look at the hour you’re coming home! she cried loudly, hands and wings on her hips. No! Just look at the state you’re in! And who are all these companions of yours?

— Poor Guili-guili, you love me so much that you were more worried about my fate than your own!

— Yes, it’s true! We were so frightened! But what happened, and where is God?

— We know no more than you do. It is probably unnecessary to tell you that Rose of the Winds invaded paradise. But don’t worry—only a handful of demons are still searching for him, and without success. Henri, Marilyn, and Uncle are pursuing him, Potato Peels reassured her.

To the surprise of several saints, former little devils, and other souls who had accompanied Potato Peels, the two angels kissed passionately. When such beings kiss, it is something to behold. But above all, something to hear. When their lips meet, a deep, continuous sound arises—pleasant nonetheless. And if they part their mouths, allowing their tongues to meet and gently brush against one another... that continuous sound turns into a harmonic phase, and from their throats there flow beautiful melodies, constantly renewed.

It was not that passionate kiss that might have reached God, who still was not answering them.

The general’s body would have liked to speak aloud, unaware that by constantly banging against its own forehead, it was cooking its third eye. Except that it was drifting farther and farther away from its floating outgrowth... that loud and slimy head. Still, as a good strategist, it would have given a mission to its favorite sergeant, Minus Cule, saying to him...

— My little shit!... (That is how Rose affectionately names his servants.) You and the others are to return to the conquered territories and see whether everything is normal. You’ll join us tomorrow; do not forget that we’ll be a little farther west. You are dismissed.

— No problem, General! On Minus’s honor, if there are any problems, I’ll sort them out myself, like a grown man!

— Don’t do anything foolish! my head would have replied to him. And above all, stop saying things. I’m sending you only to test the waters, and nothing more! Go on, off with you!

My head would then have guessed that Minus Cule would not go immediately to inquire into everything that might be worth reporting. The little bicorne would have indulged in his favorite pastime, without my even needing to remind him of his duty. In fact, it had been a long time since he had looked beneath the angels’ robes...

And so Rose’s body was thinking.