At last it dawned upon him that his friend had not been really dead, but had fallen into some sort of fit in the course of his lonely meditations, from which he had been awakened by the Cossack's terrific swearing.

Why the latter had seemed to be invisible and inaudible to him, was a matter which Schmidt did not attempt to solve.

It was clear that the Count was alive, and sleeping like other people.

Schmidt hesitated some time as to what he should do.

It was possible that his friend might wake again, and find himself desperately ill.