phonse 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
