“Shall I live till then?” asked the old man, with glistening eyes.
“Without doubt,” replied the little old man, laughing. “Can you believe that you will ever die?”
“Alas! I am very ill now.”
“Ah, let us talk of that. By Beelzebub! that will lead to just what I wish to speak to you about.”
Saying this, the strange being leaped upon the old leather chair, and carried his legs one under the other, after the fashion of the bones which the painters of funeral hangings cross beneath death’s heads. Then he resumed, in an ironical tone,—
Then he resumed, in an ironical tone
“Let us see, Master Zacharius, what is going on in this good town of Geneva? They say that your health is failing, that your watches have need of a doctor!”
“Ah, do you believe that there is an intimate relation between their existence and mine?” cried Master Zacharius.