Notwithstanding my faith, I began to feel seriously uncomfortable.

It was a neat little silver watch of foreign workmanship--not very valuable, to be sure, but precious to me as the most precious of repeaters.
"He is very tough, your watch, Monsieur," said the Wizard, pounding away vigorously.

"He--he takes a long time ...

_Ah! mon Dieu!_" He raised his hand to his head, uttered a faint cry, and snatched at the back of the chair for support.
My first thought was that he had destroyed my watch by mistake--my second, that he was very ill indeed.

Scarcely knowing what I did, and quite forgetting the audience, I jumped on the platform to his aid.
He shook his head, waved me away with one trembling hand, made a last effort to articulate, and fell heavily to the ground.
All was confusion in an instant.