“We cannot.”
“Then let us go to the Temple of the Five Gods. It stands to reason that five gods have more compassion than one.”
The man now led the way. The woman still followed, falling behind like a tired dog, and like a dog she made no complaint. Often they stopped and, halting, waited for her; when she caught up, this mother would give a long whistling sigh and sink down in the mud.
“Come,” said the man, “we must hasten or the Temple will be overcrowded.”
“With whom?” asked the Breton.
“With rags and lice.”
“What?”
“Yes, the temples in the Middle Kingdom are now only the refuge of beggars—as in your country they are filled with plotters.”
“Are there no robbers?” asked the mother feebly.
“No,” he replied consolingly. “Fate is impartial—our temples have only vermin; the beasts were reserved for this priest’s Church.”