He had been to the buffet and greeted Madame Virginie, and she, who had long noticed how Alphonse was growing paler day by day, had—­half in jest, half in anxiety—­reproached him with his thoughtless life.

Alphonse answered with a poor joke and asked for absinthe.

How she hated those light ladies of the ballet and the opera who enticed Monsieur Alphonse to revel night after night at the gaming-table, or at interminable suppers!  How ill he had been looking these last few weeks!  He had grown quite thin, and the great gentle eyes had acquired a piercing, restless look.  What would she not give to be able to rescue him out of that life that was dragging him down!  She glanced in the opposite mirror and thought she had beauty enough left.

Now and then the door opened and a new guest came in, stamped his feet, and shut his wet umbrella.  All bowed to Madame Virginie, and almost all said, “What horrible weather!”

When Charles entered, he saluted shortly and took a seat in the corner beside the fireplace.

Alphonse’s eyes had indeed become restless.  He looked towards the door every time any one came in; and when Charles appeared, a spasm passed over his face and he missed his stroke.

“Monsieur Alphonse is not in the vein to-day,” said an onlooker.

Soon after a strange gentleman came in.  Charles looked up from his paper and nodded slightly; the stranger raised his eyebrows a little and looked at Alphonse.

He dropped his cue on the floor.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m not in the mood for billiards to-day,” said he, “permit me to leave off.  Waiter, bring me a bottle of seltzer-water and a spoon—­I must take my dose of Vichy salts.”

“You should not take so much Vichy salts, Monsieur Alphonse, but rather keep to a sensible diet,” said the doctor, who sat a little way off playing chess.

Alphonse laughed, and seated himself at the newspaper-table.  He seized the journal AMUSANT, and began to make merry remarks upon the illustrations.  A little circle quickly gathered round him, and he was inexhaustible in racy stories and whimsicalities.

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!”