“You are right. He did all this, and made a toil of nothing. But he had wealth and no ambition.” (A smile flickered on St Armand’s lips.) “Life brought him all he wanted easily. With me it was one long struggle--and always has been--a long successful struggle.” “And what were your ambitions, may I ask?--if the question is not impertinent.” “To be what I am. The head of our Church--with power, and a name known throughout the nation. The power is mine. Our Church is in better order than for centuries--idle priests are at a discount. We are making converts in all lands, and wealth pours in upon us from all sides. All this is something. It was something, at least, till the greater something came and robbed me of my power to appreciate it.” “You are suffering from overwork; I should advise a holiday. It will bring back all the old zest of living, and renewed energy.” But the High Priest shook his head. “I have less heart for a holiday than my work. Holidays belong essentially to youth--to build light castles in the air. Believe me, the little holidays I enjoy are these chats in leisure moments, held with you.” But St Armand shook his head, though he smiled. “I am much older than you. Next year I celebrate my eightieth birthday. Yet I have zest and life enough, I think, even to tire out some of the young. Believe me, you’re moping; your illness is more of the spirit than the flesh. You’re jaded, overworked, run down.” “If I admit it, what’s the cure?” St Armand leaned forward, his finger-tips touching, the sun shining on his white hair and noble head. “Recreation, physical exercise. You Priests imbibe too much spirit. It isn’t good for you in too large quantities. Animals can’t stand it.” His tone was serious, even earnest, so that the High Priest, somewhat dumfounded, sat still. “Spirit and body together are all right, but they must be exactly balanced. Let one slide down the scale ever so little, and the havoc begins. Now, it seems to me, in your life especially the body has been left out of account altogether. You have been brought up in an atmosphere so spiritual, that it has become unhealthy.” “If you mean I have given my life to the Serpent, you are right; but I have not felt the fleshly sacrifice such a great strain upon me.” “No, I hardly thought you would. It has been comparatively easy for you to sacrifice to your god. It is for all great men, else there would never be any. But tell me this, Alphonso--and I ask it as a friend, with no idle prying into your private life--has it ever struck you lately in these hours of depression that come upon you, that there has always been one icy gap in your life that has tainted all the rest, and changed it into what it is?” “There is in every man’s who feels as I feel. I may have felt the gap. It is not so easy to account for it.” “Supposing that cold place had been warmed by a wife you loved, and children, the evil might never have spread.” The High Priest shrugged his shoulders.