Perhaps Lind thought that it was the recital of the wrongs of Madame von Maderspach that had made this man’s face grow white, and given him that look about the mouth; but at all events he continued, “Exactly so.  I was only seeking to show you that there are occasions on which a man might justly take the law into his own hands.  Well, then, some would argue—­I don’t say so myself, but some would say—­that what a man may do justly an association may do justly.  What would the quick-spreading civilization of America have done but for the Lynch tribunals?  The respectable people said to themselves, ’it is question of life or death.  We have to attack those scoundrels at once, or society will be destroyed.  We cannot wait for the law:  it is powerless.’  And so when the president had given his decision, out they went and caught the scoundrels, and strung them up to the nearest tree.  You do not call them murderers.  John Lynch ought to have a statue in every Western State in America.”

“Certainly, certainly!” exclaimed Reitzei, reaching over and filling out another glass of brandy with an unsteady hand.  He was usually an exceedingly temperate person.  “We are all agreed.  Justice must be done, whether the law allows or not; I say the quicker the better.”

Lind paid no heed to him, but proceeded quietly, “Now I will come more directly to what is required of us by the Council; I have been trying to guess at their view of the question; perhaps I am altogether wrong; but no matter.  And I will ask you to imagine yourselves not here in this free country of England, where the law is strong—­and not only that, but you have a public opinion that is stronger still—­and where it is not possible that a great Churchman should be a man living in open iniquity, and an oppressor and a scoundrel—­I will ask you to imagine yourselves living in Italy, let one say in the Papal Territory itself, where the reign of Christ should be, and where the poor should be cared for, if there is Christianity still on the earth.  And you are poor, let us say; hardly knowing how to scrape together a handful of food sometimes; and your children ragged and hungry; and you forced from time to time to go to the Monte di Pieta to pawn your small belongings, or else you will die, or you will see your children die before your eyes.”

“Ah, yes, yes!” exclaimed Reitzei.  “That is the worst of it—­to see one’s children die!  That is worse than one’s own hunger.”

“And you,” continued Lind, quietly, but still with a little more distinctness of emphasis, “you, you poor devils, you see a great dignitary of the Church, a great prince among priests, living in shameless luxury, in violation of every law, human and divine, with the children of his mistresses set up in palaces, himself living on the fat of the land.  What law does he not break, this libertine, this usurer?  What makes the corn dear, so that you cannot get it for your starving children?—­what but this