rbeg's abashed revelations.
As Jack grew older, he grew fond of saying there was no fool like an old
fool, forgetting that there is another kind, the middle-aged fool, who
has the distinction of comprehending and enjoying his folly. Of course,
Tonderbeg would get himself snubbed, and Jack would retire to his cabin
to muse upon the serious news. So I reflected as I hurried up that dark
street toward a faint ray of light which indicated the door of her
house. I had no forebodings up to this moment; only speculations. And
even when that light was darkened for an instant as someone stood in the
doorway, and I heard Pollyni's voice calling hoarsely to know who I was,
I had no premonition. The next moment her high-heeled shoes clicked on
the sidewalk as she ran toward me, and when she came up to me she
grasped me and stared at me in a profoundly mysterious fashion. I will
not say to you what I now believe lay at the back of that girl's mind.
You would say I had lost my faith in humanity, but you would be
mistaken. You would be forgetting her descent from the Pandour hordes
who came galloping up out of the Caucasus so many centuries ago. You
would be forgetting that to those people neither 'life, liberty, nor the
pursuit of happiness' are particularly sacred things, or things to be
achieved in a spirit of altruistic piety. But I can tell you it was
because of that enigmatic stare of hers that I have emphasized her part
in this story of Captain Macedoine's daughter. You might say she had the
temperament for the leading role in the play.... She said in her hoarse
musical contralto, 'We were ready and we were coming down to meet you.'

"'Well?' I said. She stood in front of me, holding my arms and impeding
my advance.

"'Well!' she repeated, slowly. 'You do not know what has happened,' and
again she regarded me in the way I have described.

"'No,' I said, returning her scrutiny, 'I don't understand what you mean
by what has happened. I have seen a shocking thing down there. They are
fighting in the _Via Egnatia_. Some are dead. We can't go that way, I'm
afraid.'

"Suddenly she dropped her hands from my arms and breathed deeply.
'Come!' she said, and hurried away from me. I had spoken the truth. I
did not understand her, but her demeanour alarmed me. I followed,
watching the silhouette of her body sway as she took her long strides. I
had a fugitive notion that this performance was symbolical of our
emotional existence--our sou