it.
We tried the man with French. We said:

"_Une omelette aux fines herbes_."

As he did not appear to understand that, we gave it him in bad English.
We twisted and turned the unfortunate word "savoury" into sounds so
quaint, so sad, so unearthly, that you would have thought they might have
touched the heart of a savage. This stoical Teuton, however, remained
unmoved. Then we tried pantomime.

Pantomime is to language what marmalade, according to the label on the
pot, is to butter, "an excellent (occasional) substitute." But its
powers as an interpreter of thought are limited. At least, in real life
they are so. As regards a ballet, it is difficult to say what is not
explainable by pantomime. I have seen the bad man in a ballet convey to
the _premiere danseuse_ by a subtle movement of the left leg, together
with some slight assistance from the drum, the heartrending intelligence
that the lady she had been brought up to believe was her mother was in
reality only her aunt by marriage. But then it must be borne in mind
that the _premiere danseuse_ is a lady whose quickness of perception is
altogether unique. The _premiere danseuse_ knows precisely what a
gentleman means when he twirls round forty-seven times on one leg, and
then stands on his head. The average foreigner would, in all
probability, completely misunderstand the man.

A friend of mine once, during a tour in the Pyrenees, tried to express
gratitude by means of pantomime. He arrived late one evening at a little
mountain inn, where the people made him very welcome, and set before him
their best; and he, being hungry, appreciated their kindness, and ate a
most excellent supper.

Indeed, so excellent a meal did he make, and so kind and attentive were
his hosts to him, that, after supper, he felt he wanted to thank them,
and to convey to them some idea of how pleased and satisfied he was.

He could not explain himself in language. He only knew enough Spanish to
just ask for what he wanted--and even to do that he had to be careful not
to want much. He had not got as far as sentiment and emotion at that
time. Accordingly he started to express himself in action. He stood up
and pointed to the empty table where the supper had been, then opened his
mouth and pointed down his throat. Then he patted that region of his
anatomy where, so scientific people tell us, supper goes to, and smiled.

He has a rather curious smile, has my friend. He himself