“Uh-h-h! And why did you do that?”
The grave-digger seemed surprised.
“Why? How do I know, I was ordered to.”
“Who ordered you?”
At this question the grave-digger straightened himself, and examined the rash young man from head to foot.
“Come! come! You’re curious as a Spaniard. A Spaniard asked me the same question, but in secret. I’m going to say to you what I said to him: the curate ordered it.”
“Oh! and what did you do with the body?”
“The devil! if I didn’t know you, I should take you for the police. The curate told me to bury it in the Chinese cemetery, but it’s a long way there, and the body was heavy. ‘Better be drowned,’ I said to myself, ‘than lie with the Chinese,’ and I threw it into the lake.”
“No, no, stop digging!” interrupted the younger man, with a cry of horror, and throwing down his spade he sprang out of the grave.
The grave-digger watched him run off signing himself, laughed, and went to work again.