Then I traced
back a course of life for this latest scion of a race of condottieri,
tracking down his misfortunes, looking for the reasons of the deep
moral and physical degradation out of which the lately revived sparks
of greatness and nobility shone so much the more brightly. My ideas,
no doubt, were passing through his mind, for all processes of
thought-communications are far more swift, I think, in blind people,
because their blindness compels them to concentrate their attention. I
had not long to wait for proof that we were in sympathy in this way.
Facino Cane left off playing, and came up to me. "Let us go out!" he
said; his tones thrilled through me like an electric shock. I gave him
my arm, and we went.
Outside in the street he said, "Will you take me back to Venice? Will
you be my guide? Will you put faith in me? You shall be richer than
ten of the richest houses in Amsterdam or London, richer than
Rothschild; in short, you shall have the fabulous wealth of the
_Arabian Nights_."
The man was mad, I thought; but in his voice there was a potent
something which I obeyed. I allowed him to lead, and he went in the
direction of the Fosses de la Bastille, as if he could see; walking
till he reached a lonely spot down by the river, just where the bridge
has since been built at the junction of the Canal Saint-Martin and the
Seine.
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