The burning cigar lay upon the carpet beside the chair, and Sir
Brian took it up and tossed it into the grate. As he did so he looked
searchingly into the eyes of M. Gaston. The pupils were extraordinary
dilated....
"Do you feel better?" asked Sir Brian.
"Much better," muttered M. Gaston, his face twitching nervously--"much
better."
"Are you subject to these attacks?"
"Since--I was in China--yes, unfortunately."
Sir Brian tugged at his fair mustache and seemed about to speak, then
turned aside, and, walking to the table, poured out a peg of brandy and
offered it to his guest.
"Thanks," said M. Gaston; "many thanks indeed, but already I recover.
There is only one thing that would hasten my recovery, and that, I fear,
is not available."
"What is that?"
He looked again at M. Gaston's eyes with their very dilated pupils.
"Opium!" whispered M. Gaston.
"What! you... you"...
"I acquired the custom in China," replied the Frenchman, his voice
gradually growing stronger; "and for many years, now, I have regarded
opium, as essential to my well-being. Unfortunately business has
detained me in London, and I have been forced to fast for an unusually
long time. My outraged constitution is protesting--that is all."
He shrugged his shoulders and glanced up at his host with an odd smile.
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