"I haven't been as miserable as this for a long time," he said.
"Have some bread and butter and a herring," said the tall man. "We'll have some caraway cheese. Here! Waiter!"
"Can't you advise me?" Falk began again. "I can't stand the Red One any longer, and I must...."
"Here! Waiter! Bring some black bread! Drink, Falk, and don't talk nonsense."
Falk was thrown out of the saddle; he made no second attempt to find sympathy with his mental difficulties, but tried another, not unusual way.
"Your advice is the brandy bottle?" he said. "Very well, with all my soul, then!"
The alcohol flowed through his veins like poison, for he was not accustomed to take strong drink in the morning; the smell of cooking, the buzzing of the flies, the odour of the faded flowers, which stood by the side of the dirty table-centre, induced in him a strange feeling of well-being. And his low companions with their neglected linen, their greasy coats, and their unwashed gaol-bird faces harmonized so well with his own degraded position, that he felt a wild joy surging in his heart.
"We were in the Deer Park last night and, by Jove! we did drink," said the stout man, once more enjoying the past delights in memory.
Falk had no answer to this, and moreover, his thoughts were running in a different groove.
"Isn't it jolly to have a morning off?" said the tall man, who seemed to be playing the part of tempter.