“Tell me,” she said, taking Nasca’s hand, “has this man eyes aslant, like the eyes of a fox?”
“Indeed and he has,” answered Nasca. Then his heart bade him say some good of the fellow, and he added: “Yet no man makes his own face, wherefore must some be pitied.”
“Tell me,” said the grandmother eagerly, “has he sharp teeth like a cat?”
“That he has,” said Nasca, then wondering, asked: “Have you seen this man, then, when your eyes were bright and strong?”
“No, Nasca,” she answered, “never have I set eyes on him, yet I greatly fear him; and long, long ago I heard stories about such a creature and it was said that much evil he wrought, yet none could slay him.” She was silent for a little, then again she asked this: “Did you see his ears, Nasca, and are they pointed, like those of a fox?”
“Yes,” said Nasca.
At that answer the old woman was sad again and Nasca had to comfort her with sweet words, telling her that she should come to no hurt, since he was there, for he would die defending her.
“That I know, Nasca,” she said. “If the hurt came to me alone, glad would I be, for I have seen my golden days and now there is little left for me but the brief sunset hour. But I fear for others. Of such a creature I have heard it said that he comes from nowhere and goes into nothing, but somehow looses evil upon men. Because of that I fear. So, Nasca, promise me that if this man asks anything of you, you will do nothing that promises hurt to any living thing.”
That Nasca promised gladly enough, then said: “Yet it may be that this man is not the evil creature you have heard of. It may well be some unfortunate whose wits are loose. True, his face is far from pleasant to see, but a rough face may go with a good heart, and a man’s face may change.”
“Yes, with wickedness,” said the old woman, “but in truth it has been said that a man’s face and his character both go with him to the grave, if indeed there is any grave for such as this.”