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 bowing, I let my hand fall upon my pocket--a language which he understood, and for which (the Blessed Mother be thanked!) he perceived that I meant to offer battle immediately, though at that moment he offered me an open smile of benevolence.