“My feet have not as much dust as the road was long,” answered the Frenchman.
“If you have travelled so much,” continued the Venetian, “you must be a learned man.”
“I have learned,” replied the Frenchman, “to give no heed to those who do not trouble about me. I have learnt that however high a man’s head was, his feet were always level with my own; more than that, I have learnt to have no confidence in the warm days of winter, in the sleep of my enemies, or the words of my friends.”
“You are, then, richer than I am,” said the Venetian, astonished, “since you tell me things of which I never thought.”
“Everyone must think for himself,” said the Frenchman; “and as you have interrogated me, I can request from you the kindness of pointing to me the road to Palermo or some inn, for the night is closing in.”
“Are you then, acquainted with no French or Sicilian gentlemen at Palermo?”
“No.”
“Then you are not certain of being received?”
“I am disposed to forgive those who reject me. The road, sir, if you please.”
“I am lost like yourself,” said the Venetian. “Let us look for it in company.”