'I have been robbed!' he said.
'Robbed?' the other echoed, then smiled a pitying concern. 'My surprise is less than yours, my son. Did I not say these woods are infested by thieves and robbers? Had you slept less soundly you might have been robbed of life as well. Render thanks to God, Whose grace is discernible even in misfortune. For no evil befalls us that will not serve to show how much greater that evil might have been. Take that for comfort ever in adversity, my child.'
'Aye, Aye!' Bellarion displayed ill-humour, whilst his eyes abated nothing of their suspicious glance. 'It is easy to make philosophy upon the woes of others.'
'Child, child! What is your woe? What is the full sum of it? What have you lost, when all is said?'
'Five ducats and a letter.' Bellarion flung the answer fiercely.
'Five ducats!' The friar spread his hands in pious remonstrance. 'And will you blaspheme God for five ducats?'
'Blaspheme?'
'Is not your furious frame of mind a blasphemy, your anger at your loss where there should be a devout thankfulness for all that you retain? And you should be thankful, too, for the Providence that guided my steps towards you in the hour of your need.'
'I should be thankful for that?' Bellarion stressed the question with mistrust.
The friar's countenance changed. A gentle melancholy invested it.