He waved his hand, and strode irreverently over the graves back in the direction we had come.
I stood before the fine tomb with its fine epitaph: the Savoyard looked at me wistfully.
CHAPTER VI.
The Savoyard looked at me wistfully. I wished to enter into conversation with him. That was not easy. However, I began.
Pisistratus.—“You must be often hungry enough, my poor boy. Do the mice feed you?”
Savoyard puts his head on one side, shakes it, and strokes his mice.
Pisistratus.—“You are very fond of the mice; they are your only friends, I fear.”
Savoyard evidently understanding Pisistratus, rubs his face gently against the mice, then puts them softly down on a grave, and gives a turn to the hurdy-gurdy. The mice play unconcernedly over the grave.
Pisistratus, pointing first to the beasts, then to the instrument.—“Which do you like best, the mice or the hurdygurdy?”