hine more. I would rather--"

I broke off in the middle of my sentence, attracted by a sudden little
exclamation from my companion. There was the sound of a heavy fall
close at hand. I sprang to my feet.

"By Jove, it's Bartot!" I exclaimed.

The man was leaning half across the table, his arms stretched out in
an unnatural fashion,--the wine which he had overturned streaming on
to the floor. His face was flushed and blotchy. His eyes were
closed. He was groaning quite audibly, and gasping.

"_Empoisonne!"_ he muttered. "_Empoisonne!"_

"Poisoned?" I repeated. "What does the fellow mean?"

I stopped short. A sudden realization of what he did mean assailed me!
He was desperately ill, there was no doubt about that. The word which
he had uttered seemed likely to be his last for some time to come.
They formed a sort of stretcher and carried him from the room. Felicia
was sitting back in her chair, white to the lips. I was feeling a
little queer myself. I called Louis, who had been superintending the
man's removal.

"Louis," I whispered in his ear, "there were two dinners which you
prepared yourself to-night!"

Louis smiled very quietly.

"You need have no anxiety, monsieur," he assured me,--"no anxiety at
all!"

CHAPTER XVIII

CONTRASTS

We sat out in the foyer and took our coffee. I did not suggest a visit
to any place of entertainment, as I knew it was better for Felicia to
retire early, in order that I might pass through the sitting-room to
her uncle's room, unheard. The orchestra was playing delightful music;
the rooms were thronged with a gay and fashionable crowd.
Nevertheless, my companion's spirits, which had been high enough
during dinner, now seemed to fail her. More than once during the
momentary silence I saw the absent look come into her eyes,--saw her
shiver as though she were recalling the little tragedy of a few
minutes ago. I had hitherto avoided mentioning it, but I tried now to
make light of the matter.

"I spoke to Louis coming out," I remarked. "The man Bartot has only
had a slight stroke. With a neck like that, I wonder he has not had it
before."

She found no consolation in my words. She only shook her head sadly.

"You do not understand," she said. "It is part of the game. So it goes
on, Capitaine Rotherby," she said, looking at me with her sad
eyes. "So it will go on to the end."

"Come," I said, "you must not get morbid."

"Morbid," she repeated. "It is not that. It i