The cow lifted up her head, and rested her great chin on
Peter's shoulder, breathing upon his face.

"Yes, you know that we are companions in misery, don't you?" he
said. "They have taken my calf from me too--though my calf,
indeed, was only a calf in an extremely metaphorical sense--and
it never was exactly mine, anyhow--I daresay it's belonged from
the beginning to another man. You, at least, have n't that
gall and wormwood added to your cup. And now you must really
try to pull yourself together. It's no good crying. And
besides, there are more calves in the sea than have ever been
taken from it. You'll have a much handsomer and fatter one
next time. And besides, you must remember that your loss
subserves someone else's gain--the farmer would never have done
it if it hadn't been to his advantage. If you 're an altruist,
that should comfort you. And you must n't mind Marietta,--you
must n't mind her laughter. Marietta is a Latin. The Latin
conception of what is laughable differs by the whole span of
heaven from the Teuton. You and I are Teutons."

"Teutons--?" questioned Marietta wrinkling her brow.

"Yes--Germanic," said he.

"But I thought the Signorino was English?"

"So he is."

"But the cow is not Germanic. White, with black horns, that is
the purest Roman breed, Signorino."