At length he awoke, gazed wildly at Osip and at me, and closing his bloodshot eyes, murmured:
"Well, well!"
"What is the matter with you?" asked Osip gently, without reproaches, but rather sadly.
"I was driven to it," explained Ardalon hoarsely, and coughing.
"How?"
"Ah, there were reasons."
"You were not contented, perhaps?"
"What is the good—"
Ardalon took an open bottle of vodka from the table, and began to drink from it. He then asked Osip:
"Would you like some? There ought to be something to eat here as well."