As he was looked at inquisitively, he said no more, but lit a cigarette, and began to sip his beer. The stout player said to his opponent, with a wink—
“The balls are in the corner; now for the final!”
Whereupon he made a series of seventeen cannons, and missed the eighteenth. Laforêt, without being disconcerted, took up the cue, but only scored five points. His adversary exclaimed—
“If I score fifteen now, I win the set.”
He won without the slightest effort, turned down his shirt-sleeves, put on his coat, and, holding out his hand to his opponent, said:
“No ill feeling?”
“None at all. You have played very well, M. Moussin,” said Laforêt. “My revenge next time.”
“Whenever you like.”
Laforêt, with perfect indifference, approached Baudoin, exclaiming in loud tones—
“Waiter, a bitter.”