He probed the haze and found the face of the saint again. It was such a small grin-sad, understanding, and, something else. Laughing at the hangman? No, laughing for the hangman. Laughing at the Stultus Maximus, at Satan himself. It was the first time he had seen it clearly. In the last chalice, there could be a chuckle of triumph. Haec commixtio.