that a blind beggar
wanted to speak to him and in secret, so that nobody could hear.

Szilard ordered the blind man to be led in. He seemed to be a muscular,
athletic fellow with broad shoulders and a huge body--what a pity he was
blind.

"Domnule, are we quite alone?" inquired the blind man when he stood
before Vamhidy.

"We are quite by ourselves; what is it you want, my good fellow?"

"Thank you, sir, for calling me a good fellow, for I _was_ good for
something once upon a time, and will be so again. I am the famous Juon
Tare whose eyes were burnt out in the Lucsia Cavern when they wanted to
catch Fatia Negra, and the monster set the whole cavern on fire. I want
the head of Fatia Negra. I am after that head now and when I get it all
my woe will cease. Do you want that head Domnule?--I can tell you where
it is."

"Well?"

"Have you pluck enough not to be afraid of him, Domnule?"

"I am afraid of nothing."

"And yet many brave men fall back at the sight of that black face, which
never changes, which is just like steel and which they fancy neither
sword nor bullet can hurt; but my nails have torn his body and I have
seen his blood flow."

"Say where he is!"

"Close at hand."

"In which direction?"

"Ah! Domnule!" sighed Juon Tare, "how can I answer that, I who can see
neither heaven nor earth?"

"Then how do you know that he is hard by?"

"Ah, Domnule, I can recognize him by his voice, and if I do not hear him
speak, I can recognize the sound of his footsteps when I hear him draw
nigh. Nobody else has his trick of walking. Sometimes he goes as softly
as a spectre so that only the ears of a blind man can detect his
footfall and at other times he tramps as if the whole earth beneath him
were hollow and it resounds at every step. Oh, I have often heard him
approaching when he was still far, far away."

"But do you know anything certain about him?"

"I will tell you everything, Domnule, beginning at the beginning. You
see that I am blind, a blind beggar, for begging is my trade. So long as
my wife was alive, I had no need to turn beggar, for she worked for me
and kept me. But she died. After that I would gladly have died of
hunger, but she left me a little son, a child but two years old and I go
a begging for him. Above the brook here on the King's highway is a stone
bridge built by the county. Early in the morning my little son is wont
to lead me hither and then returns to the village, little mite as