"Come, we will go back; your health is
precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are
happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no
matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be
responsible. Besides, there is Luchesi --"
"Enough, the cough is a mere nothing; it will not
kill me. I shall not die of a cough."
"True - true, and, indeed, I had no intention of
alarming you unnecessarily - but you should use all proper caution.
A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps."
Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long
row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.
"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.
He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me
familiarly, while his bells jingled.
"I drink to the buried that repose around us."
"And I to your long life."