“I lift my feet pretty high; and then I am used to it; I come from Noiesemont here all alone.”

“All alone! how do you find your way?”

“I find the course of the wind as I leave home, and this takes the place of the sun with me.”

“But the holes?”

“I know them all.”

“And the walls?”

“I feel them.  When I approach anything thick, sir, the air comes with less force upon my face; it is but now and then that I get a hard knock, as by example, if sometimes a little handcart is left on the road, I do not suspect it—­whack! bad for you, poor five-and-thirty, but this is soon over.  It is only when I get bewildered, as I did day before yesterday.  O then—–­”

“You have not told me of that, James,” said Mr. Desgranges.

“I was, however, somewhat embarrassed, my dear friend.  While I was here the wind changed, I did not perceive it; but at the end of a quarter of an hour, when I had reached the plain of Noiesemont, I had lost my way, and I felt so bewildered that I did not dare to stir a step.  You know the plain, not a house, no passersby.  I sat down on the ground, I listened; after a moment I heard at, as I supposed, about two hundred paces distant, a noise of running water.  I said, ’If this should be the stream which is at the bottom of the plain?’ I went feeling along on the side from which the noise came—­I reached the stream; then I reasoned in this way:  the water comes down from the side of Noiesemont and crosses it.  I put in my hand to feel the current.”

“Bravo, James.”

“Yes, but the water was so low and the current so small, that my hand felt nothing.  I put in the end of my stick, it was not moved.  I rubbed my head finally, I said, ’I am a fool, here is my handkerchief;’ I took it, I fastened it to the end of my cane.  Soon I felt that it moved gently to the right, very gently.  Noiesemont is on the right.  I started again and I get home to Juliana, who began to be uneasy.”

“O,” cried the young man, “this is admir——­”

But Mr. Desgranges stopped him, and leading him to the other end of the room,

“Silence!” said he to him in a low voice.  “Not admirable—­do not corrupt by pride the simplicity of this man.  Look at him, see how tranquil his face is, how calm after this recital which has moved you so much.  He is ignorant of himself, do not spoil him.”

“It is so touching,” said the young man, in a low tone.

“Undoubtedly, and still his superiority does not lie there.  A thousand blind men have found out these ingenious resources, a thousand will find them again; but this moral perfection—­this heart, which opens itself so readily to elevated consolations—­this heart which so willingly takes upon it the part of a victim—­this heart which has restored him to life.  For do not be deceived, it is not I who have saved him, it is his affection for me; his ardent gratitude has filled his whole soul, and has sustained—­he has lived because he has loved!”