'Yes, I have done,' said the other in a strange voice, as if he had got back his strength in some queer way.
While the medium looked in his pockets to see if he had a torn handkerchief and a dirty pack of cards he always carried with him, and then put on his shabby hat, the Cabalists had gathered in a group, but they were not speaking. What he had said in its true and symbolical sense as a hint, a suggestion, had deeply moved them.
'Gentlemen, may God forgive you!' the medium cried out in a queer way, with a slight smile, as he went off.
They hardly greeted him, but glanced at him remorsefully. None of them dared make an excuse for the ill they had done him; each of them felt the nail riveted that the medium had driven in. The two went down the small stair very slowly, for the medium often threatened to fall. The usurer did not go so far as to offer him his arm; the medium was much too dirty. When he came to the doorway and looked around, drinking in the free air, tears came to his eyes.
'I thought I would never get out alive,' he said as he got to the carriage.
'Where do you wish to go?' asked Parascandolo.
'To the police-court,' said the other in a feeble voice again.
He was spread out in the carriage like a serious invalid. Don Gennaro frowned rather, and, not to make people stare, he had the carriage hood put up. They went on to Concezione Street.
'Do you intend to denounce them?' Parascandolo asked.