Toward the end of supper Marguerite was seized by a more violent fit of coughing than any she had had while I was there.

It seemed as if her chest were being torn in two.

The poor girl turned crimson, closed her eyes under the pain, and put her napkin to her lips.

It was stained with a drop of blood.

She rose and ran into her dressing-room.
"What is the matter with Marguerite ?" asked Gaston.
"She has been laughing too much, and she is spitting blood.