A wretched being who wore enormous blue goggles over his eyes and who directed his footsteps by tapping the ground in front of him with a long staff, held in hands curiously twisted and deformed, looked in at the door.
"What is it? What is it?" asked the blind man, with that feverish impatience which the smallest events excite in isolated communities.
"'Tis the new leper. She is very beautiful," replied voices.
"I'm not a leper," cried Panayota. "God save me and protect me, and keep the evil eye from me!"
"Hush!" whispered Aglaia. "Do not betray yourself."
"Describe her to me, my brother."
"She has beautiful hair and eyes and——"
But the remainder of the description was drowned in the many questionings of new arrivals. The gossip priest had told several acquaintances of Panayota's advent, and the news was spreading through the whole village. The group grew to a dozen—to twenty. They moved closer to the door and stood looking silently in—such as possessed eyes. Fear, horror and anger surged through Panayota's heart at the time; afterwards she could never think of those pitiable, outraged wrecks of the image of God without tears.
A burly form parted the throng and a face looked in—a face infinitely disgusting and infinitely terrible, and that somehow reminded Panayota of a lion—she could not tell why.
"Take them away! Take them away!" moaned Panayota, covering her face with her hands and retreating behind Aglaia. And suddenly her overwrought nerves found vent in tears, and she began to sob violently. Aglaia, but little better accustomed to the horrid spectacle than her guest, found her voice with difficulty.