“I have hurt you, my lad,” said the old man, bending forward and dropping his stick with a clatter. “You must forgive me! I cannot see; I am blind.”
Aleko stopped rubbing his elbow and looked curiously into the old man’s face. The wide open brown eyes seemed to be looking at him. He remembered an old blind woman who used to go about asking for alms in Megaloupolis, but her head was always sunk on her chest, and her eyes were closed.
“Are you quite blind?”
“Quite.”
“Your eyes do not look blind.”
“But they are.”
Aleko held up his hand, high above his head.
“Can you not see how many fingers I am holding up now?”
“Not even that you have lifted your hand; not even that you stand before me.”
“That is a pity you should be blind,” said the boy slowly. “You are not very old yet. Have you been blind long?”