"This," said the doctor, answering his own question. "Those queer things that are called the eyes, and which exist to make an agreeable depression in the face, are diseased, in the case of Nuñez, in such a way as to affect his brain. They are greatly distended, he has eyelashes, and his eyelids move, and consequently his brain is in a state of constant irritation and distraction."
"Yes?" said old Yacob. "Yes?"
"And I think I may say with reasonable certainty that, in order to cure him completely, all that we need to do is a simple and easy surgical operation—namely, to remove these irritant bodies."
"And then he will be sane?"
"Then he will be perfectly sane, and a quite admirable citizen."
"Thank Heaven for science!" said old Yacob, and went forth at once to tell Nuñez of his happy hopes.
But Nuñez's manner of receiving the good news struck him as being cold and disappointing.
"One might think," he said, "from the tone you take that you did not care for my daughter."
It was Medina-saroté who persuaded Nuñez to face the blind surgeons.
"You do not want me," he said, "to lose my gift of sight?"