So it's a fight then?"
"Yes, it is a fight. But I shall beat you, Monsieur Frederic Larsan."
"Youth never doubts anything," said the great Fred laughingly, and
held out his hand to me by way of conclusion.
Rouletabille's answer came like an echo:
"Not anything!"
Suddenly Larsan, who had risen to wish us goodnight, pressed both
his hands to his chest and staggered. He was obliged to lean on
Rouletabille for support, and to save himself from falling.
"Oh! Oh!" he cried. "What is the matter with me?--Have I been
poisoned?"
He looked at us with haggard eyes. We questioned him vainly; he
did not answer us. He had sunk into an armchair and we could get
not a word from him. We were extremely distressed, both on his
account and on our own, for we had partaken of all the dishes he had
eaten. He seemed to be out of pain; but his heavy head had fallen
on his shoulder and his eyelids were tightly closed. Rouletabille
bent over him, listening for the beatings of the heart.
My friend's face, however, when he stood up, was as calm as it had
been a moment before agitated.
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