banished it hence, and so I must follow the musicians even to the market place, because I have not where to entertain them at my house. Will you lead me to them?”
“I will lead you to them,” said Frank at random, without knowing what he said or why he said it.
“That pleases me,” said Loyka, “and inasmuch as the way will be a long one, we must rest ourselves here yet a little space.”
And they seated themselves on the graves, as if by accident old Loyka and Frank on the grandfather’s grave, Staza on her mother’s grave; Vena stood.
But at this point another character appeared on the scene, and when he had posted himself near them, said “Pray, who at this late hour, here disturbs my lodgers. I have guaranteed them rest, and will not have them molested.” He said it heartily, and with a certain humour. It was the gravedigger, Bartos.
“Good man,” said Loyka, “we seek a lodging for the night, and if you will let us be here, you can seat yourself beside us.”
Before Bartos had stepped up the group he had heard who they were, he recognised Loyka and the children by their voices, and by listening a few moments had soon understood what brought them thither. He therefore wanted no explanation, and at once adapted himself to the situation.
