While he rattled on under cover of the others' laughter, he poured out a glass of seltzer-water and took from his pocket a little box on which was written, in large letters, "Vichy Salts." He shook the powder out into the glass and stirred it round with a spoon. There was a little cigar-ash on the floor in front of his chair; he whipped it off with his pocket-handkerchief, and then stretched out his hand for the glass. At that moment he felt a hand on his arm. Charles had risen and hurried across the room he now bent down over Alphonse. Alphonse turned his head towards him so that none but Charles could see his face. At first he let his eyes travel furtively over his old friend's figure; then he looked up, and, gazing straight at Charles, he said, half aloud, "Charlie!" It was long since Charles had heard that old pet name. He gazed into the well-known face and now for the first time saw how it had altered of late. It seemed to him as though he were reading a tragic story about himself. They remained thus far a second or two and there glided over Alphonse's features that expression of imploring helplessness which Charles knew so well from the old school-days, when Alphonse came bounding in at the last moment and wanted his composition written. "Have you done with the JOURNAL AMUSANT?" asked Charles, with a thick utterance. "Yes; pray take it," answered Alphonse, hurriedly. He reached him the paper, and at the same time got hold of Charles's thumb. He pressed it and whispered, "Thanks," then--drained the glass. Charles went over to the stranger who sat by the door: "Give me the bill." "You don't need our assistance, then?" "No, thanks." "So much the better," said the stranger, handing Charles a folded blue paper. Then he paid for his coffee and went. Madame Virginie rose with a little shriek: "Alphonse! Oh, my God! Monsieur Alphonse is ill." He slipped off his chair; his shoulders went up and his head fell on one side. He remained sitting on the floor, with his back against the chair. There was a movement among those nearest; the doctor sprang over and knelt beside him. When he looked in Alphonse's face he started a little. He took his hand as if to feel his pulse, and at the same time bent down over the glass which stood on the edge of the table. With a movement of the arm he gave it a slight push, so that it fell on the floor and was smashed. Then he laid down the dead man's hand and bound a handkerchief round his chin. Not till then did the others understand what had happened. "Dead? Is he dead, doctor? Monsieur Alphonse dead?" "Heart disease," answered the doctor. One came running with water, another with vinegar. Amid laughter and noise, the balls could be heard cannoning on the inner billiard-table. "Hush!" some one whispered. "Hush!" was repeated; and the silence spread in wider and wider circles round the corpse, until all was quite still. "Come and lend a hand," said the doctor.