et me die on
the roads of their parishes--they took me to an Institution,
Monsieur, I looked in their eyes while I lay there, and I saw more
clear than the blue heaven that they thought it best that I should
die, although they would not let me. Then Monsieur, naturally my
spirit rose, and I said: "So much the worse for you. I will live a
little more." One is made like that! Life is sweet, Monsieur.

WELLWYN. Yes, Ferrand; Life is sweet.

FERRAND. That little girl you had here, Monsieur [WELLWYN nods.]
in her too there is something of wild-savage. She must have joy of
life. I have seen her since I came back. She has embraced the life
of joy. It is not quite the same thing. [He lowers his voice.]
She is lost, Monsieur, as a stone that sinks in water. I can see,
if she cannot. [As WELLWYN makes a movement of distress.] Oh! I
am not to blame for that, Monsieur. It had well begun before I knew
her.

WELLWYN. Yes, yes--I was afraid of it, at the time.

[MRS. MEGAN turns silently, and slips away.]

FEERRAND. I do my best for her, Monsieur, but look at me! Besides,
I am not good for her--it is not good for simple souls to be with
those who see things clear. For the great part of mankind, to see
anything--is fatal.

WELLWYN. Even for you, it seems.

FERRAND. No, Monsieur. To be so near to death has done me good; I
shall not lack courage any more till the wind blows on my grave.
Since I saw you, Monsieur, I have been in three Institutions. They
are palaces. One may eat upon the floor--though it is true--for
Kings--they eat too much of skilly there. One little thing they
lack--those palaces. It is understanding of the 'uman heart. In
them tame birds pluck wild birds naked.

WELLWYN. They mean well.

FERRAND. Ah! Monsieur, I am loafer, waster--what you like--for all
that [bitterly] poverty is my only crime. If I were rich, should
I not be simply veree original, 'ighly respected, with soul above
commerce, travelling to see the world? And that young girl, would
she not be "that charming ladee," "veree chic, you know!" And the
old Tims--good old-fashioned gentleman--drinking his liquor well.
Eh! bien--what are we now? Dark beasts, despised by all. That is
life, Monsieur. [He stares into the fire.]

WELLWYN. We're our own enemies, Ferrand. I can afford it--you
can't. Quite true!

FERRAND. [Earnestly.] Monsieur, do you know this? You are the
sole being that can do us go