"Nothing but a coffin!" hiccoughed the captain.
"Don't talk about it!" implored "Scraps" in a dull voice.
After Tiapa, "The Meteor" got up. The deacon wanted to rise as well; but he fell down again, cursing loudly.
When Tiapa had gone, the captain slapped Martianoff's shoulder, and began to talk in a low voice.
"That's how the matter stands, Martianoff; you ought to feel it more than the rest. You were—but it's better to drop it. Are you sorry for Philippe?"
"No!" answered the former gaoler, after a short silence. "I don't feel anything of that sort. I have lost the habit of it; I am so disgusted with life. I'm quite in earnest when I say I shall kill someone."
"Yes?" replied the captain indifferently. "Well, what then?... let's have another drop!"
"We are of no account; we can drink, that's all we can do," muttered Simtzoff, who had just woke in a happy frame of mind. "Who's there, mates? Pour out a glass for the old man!"
The vodka was poured out and handed to him.
After drinking it he dropped down again, falling with his head on someone's body.