You grew luxurious in the worship of your ideals, and sorrowful; you solaced yourselves with creeds, with arts--you have forgotten!" She spoke with calm conviction; with an overwhelming and dispassionate assurance.

She was stating facts; not professing a faith.

We approached a little roadside inn.

On a bench before the door a dun-clad country fellow was asleep, his head on the table.
"Put your fingers in your ears," my companion commanded.
I humoured her.
I saw her lips move.

The countryman started, shuddered, and by a clumsy, convulsive motion of his arms, upset his quart.