"God forbid! that does not at all chime in with my arrangements."
"Stone-dead; die!"
"Why, what have I done?"
"Prussian—no Pole."
"I am a Prussian, certainly."
"Know that."
"What do you mean by dying then?"
"So, and so, and so;" and the fellow thrust the air as though he clenched a dagger. He then pointed to his heart, groaned, and rolled his eyes in a manner awful to behold. I began to feel rather uncomfortable, for Peter had by no means the look of one beside himself; besides, the understrappers at the post-office are seldom recruited from a lunatic asylum.
"I think we are at cross purposes, my excellent friend," I at length resumed. "What do you mean by die?"
"Kill!" and he gave me a wild sidelong glance.