"Will you come with me?" said Anania, turning up Via Depretis. He had grown pale; his hands trembled in his pockets.
"What are you going to do at the Questura? What's the matter with you? Have you committed a crime?"
"I want to get someone's address. Come on."
He hurried. His friend followed, curious and a little disturbed. "Who is the person? Who wants the address? Someone at Nuoro? Is it a mystery? Speak, you wretch!"
Anania strode on and made no answer.
"Well," said Daga as they arrived at S. Martino, "I'm not your pet dog. If you won't open your mouth, I'll leave you here."
"I'll tell you afterwards. Wait for me."
Daga waited. A quarter of an hour passed. The young man forgot his comrade's mysterious business in enjoyment of the grand scene spread out before him. The rosy haze of incipient twilight filled the air. The lamps were like pearls in the streets of the immense fan, stretching out from the Piazza dell' Esquilino. Foot-passengers and carriages passed as on a huge stage before a limitless background.
"They're all marionettes moved by an invisible thread," thought the student. "There they go passing, hurrying, disappearing. Each one thinks himself great, the pivot of the world, with an universe existing for him alone. While in reality they are all very small. I wonder how many of them have committed crimes? That swell there with the silk hat? Perhaps he has poisoned someone. They all have cares. No, not all. It's a lie to say humanity suffers. The chief part of humanity neither suffers nor enjoys. All those people going to the Pincio for instance! What can those people either enjoy or suffer? Is that Anania Atonzu coming back? Yes, here he is. He also is a marionette. He looks like Punch when he says 'the die is cast!'"
In his olympian superiority of the moment, Daga smiled more mockingly than ever.