"Listen to one, my girl. If I had a bushel of live coal in my stomach, it
could hardly burn me more. For more than a month, I have been consuming
my body by a slow fire. This gentleman," he added, glancing at Morok,
"this dear friend, always undertook to feed the flame. I do not regret
life; I have lost the habit of work, and taken to drink and riot; I
should have finished by becoming a thorough blackguard: I preferred that
my friend here should amuse himself with lighting a furnace in my inside.
Since what I drank just now, I am certain that it fumes like yonder
punch."

"You are both foolish and ungrateful," said Morok, shrugging his
shoulders; "you held out your glass, and I filled it--and, faith, we
shall drink long and often together yet."

For some moments, Cephyse had not withdrawn her eyes from Morok. "I tell
you, that you have long blown the fire, in which I have burnt my skin,"
resumed Jacques, addressing Morok in a feeble voice, "so that they may
not think I die of cholera. It would look as if I had been frightened by
the part I played. I do not therefore reproach you, my affectionate
friend," added he, with a sardonic smile; "you dug my grave gayly--and
sometimes, when, seeing the great dark hole, into which I was about to
fall, I drew back a step--but you, my excellent friend, still pushed me
forward, saying, `Go on, my boy, go on!'--and I went on--and here I am--"

So saying, Sleepinbuff burst into a bitter laugh, which sent an icy
shudder through the spectators of this scene.

"My good fellow," said Morok, coolly, "listen to me, and follow my
advice."