THE NINTH MAN
plays with the thought of death and rejoices at revenge, and terrible a city whose face is gray with fear. It seems as if no force there be on earth great enough to overcome such things; and, lo, the voice of one man—unfriended, unhelped, with no other weapon but the love in his heart—had been stronger than all other things. I joined the crowd that went rejoicing to their homes, transformed from the children of fear and hate to the children of love and pity. But as I went past the cobbler's shop, the cobbler's lame son sat and grinned his hate at me, and as I went into the great hall Mazzaleone and my lady sat talking in low tones by the window, and she turned away a blushing cheek as though she were his sweetheart; and Bartolommeo in his lustful pride stood apart and talked with other ladies, yet his eyes rested for ever on the two by the window.
