At the dinner hour Schiller left my fare to the convict Kunda, who brought me some water, while Schiller stood outside. I called him. “I have no time,” he replied, very drily.
I rose, and going to him, said, “If you wish my dinner to agree with me, pray don’t look so horribly sour; it is worse than vinegar.”
“And how ought I to look?” he asked, rather more appeased.
“Cheerful, and like a friend,” was my reply.
“Let us be merry, then! Viva l’allegria!” cried the old man. “And if it will make your dinner agree with you, I will dance you a hornpipe into the bargain.” And, assuming a broad grin, he set to work with his long, lean, spindle shanks, which he worked about like two huge stilts, till I thought I should have died with laughing. I laughed and almost cried at the same time.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
One evening Count Oroboni and I were standing at our windows complaining of the low diet to which we were subjected. Animated by the subject, we talked a little too loud, and the sentinels began to upbraid us. The superintendent, indeed, called in a loud voice to Schiller, as he happened to be passing, inquiring in a threatening voice why he did not keep a better watch, and teach us to be silent? Schiller came in a great rage to complain of me, and ordered me never more to think of speaking from the window. He wished me to promise that I would not.
“No!” replied I; “I shall do no such thing.”
“Oh, der Teufel; der Teufel!” [26] exclaimed the old man; “do you say that to me? Have I not had a horrible strapping on your account?”
“I am sorry, dear Schiller, if you have suffered on my account. But I cannot promise what I do not mean to perform.”