came into the light, my mouth dropped open with wonder at the
singular chances which the littleness of our world brings about.

"Prince Caravacioli, Mr. Poor. And this is Signor Ansolini."

It was my half-brother, that old Antonio!



Chapter Eight


Never lived any person with more possession of himself than
Antonio; he bowed to each of us with the utmost amiability; and
for expression--all one saw of it was a little streak of light
in his eye-glass.

"It is yourself, Raffaele?" he said to me, in the politest
manner, in our own tongue, the others thinking it some
commonplace, and I knew by his voice that the meeting was as
surprising and as exasperating to him as to me.

Sometimes dazzling flashes of light explode across the eyes of
blind people. Such a thing happened to my own, now, in the
darkness. I found myself hot all over with a certain rashness
that came to me. I felt that anything was possible if I would
but dare enough.

"I am able to see that it is the same yourself!" I answered, and
made the faintest eye-turn toward Miss Landry. Simultaneously