"Come, now! Do you know who is the greatest tyrant in the whole world?"
"Dionysius of Syracuse."
"Ha! ha! ha! Young blood! 'Tis this!"—and with his index finger he tapped himself between his fourth and fifth ribs on the left-hand side.
"The heart, eh?"
"You're right. The heart. 'Tis the greatest tyrant. It commands me to speak Hungarian."
"Then you are in love, eh?"
A gesture with the palm of his hand right up to the chin was the answer.
"Up to the neck, eh?"
"No, over head and ears."