He was silent and moody, and showed little responsiveness to Garnache's jesting humour.

Garnache, wondering what might be toward in the fellow's mind, watched him closely.
Suddenly the little man--he was a short, bowlegged, sinewy fellow--heaved a great sigh as he plucked idly at a weed that grew between two stones of the inner courtyard, where they were seated on the chapel steps.
"You are a dull comrade to-day, compatriot," said Garnache, clapping him on the shoulder.
"It is the Day of the Dead," the fellow answered him, as though that were an ample explanation.

Garnache laughed.
"To those that are dead it no doubt is; so was yesterday, so will to-morrow be.

But to us who sit here it is the day of the living." "You are a scoffer," the other reproached him, and his rascally face was oddly grave.

"You don't understand." "Enlighten me, then.