“If that is all your trouble,” said he in the same voice, “you can remain here as long as you please; but it will not please you very long, I fancy,” and he seated himself beside them.
“So, so, so, so,” muttered Loyka, as was his custom when some process in his ideas had to be emphasised.
“What thinkest thou, old friend, who has suffered most, I or Jesus of Nazareth.”
“You, pantata, and that because none of us know what you have yet to suffer, although you have already suffered much.”
At these words Loyka started, because it was just as though they had been chosen out of his own soul, and he had rather expected contradiction.
“But I do not want to suffer any more, lad, and, if you know, pray tell me what I am to do.”
“I know one thing you might do,” said Bartos. “If you were to lie down to rest in these chambers,” and here he pointed to the graves, “all would be over, but you have no right to them yet, nor dare I enclose you in them. However I will tell you what you should do. You want nothing but to divert yourself a little.”
“Exactly what I thought myself,” said Loyka. “You speak like a true doctor, and if I should listen to you yet awhile, I know not whether good might not come of it.”
