"Plenty of gravel. Isn't that what you say? I heard the expression once."
"Perhaps you mean sand?"
"Maybe it is. At any rate, you've got it."
At this moment a tremendous hubbub arose. The demarch lunged through the crowd, and, throwing his constituents to right and left, made way for the entry of an old woman, who stabbed the ground at every step with a long, quivering staff. She was bent like the new moon, and her wrinkled skin was the color of a mild cigar. In her left hand she held, a wisp of dried herbs. The cries of relief and joy which her presence evoked reminded Curtis of the arrival of a tardy fire engine.
"Who's this?" he asked.
"She is the wise woman," replied Michali. "She will put something on the foot that will cure him very quick."
Her orders, delivered in a shrill voice, resulted in the immediate production of warm water, a towel and a basin. The old woman made the sign of the cross over the foot. She then washed it, applied the leaves and bound them on with rags.
"That does feel nice," said Curtis. "How much ought I to offer her?"
"Money?" asked Michali.
"Yes, of course."