"Poor Don Aloysius!" she said—"He will now go to his soup maigre—and we to our poulet, sauce bechamel,—and he will be quite as contented as we are!"
"More so, probably!" said Rivardi, as he courteously assisted Lady Kingswood, who was slightly lame, to rise from her chair—"He is one of the few men who in life have found peace."
Morgana gave him a keen glance.
"You think he has really found it?"
"I think so,—yes! He has faith in God—a great support that has given way for most of the peoples of this world."
Lady Kingswood looked pained.
"I am sorry to hear you say that!"
"I am sorry myself to say it, miladi, but I fear it is true!" he rejoined—"It is one sign of a general break-up."
"Oh, you are right! You are very right!" exclaimed Morgana suddenly, and with emphasis—"We know that when even one human being is unable to recognise his best friend we say—'Poor man! His brain is gone!' It's the same thing with a nation. Or a world! When it is so ailing that it cannot recognise the Friend who brought it into being, who feeds it, keeps it, and gives it all it has, we must say the same thing—'Its brain is gone!'"
Rivardi was surprised at the passionate energy she threw into these words.