"Now, Mr. Brand," said Calabressa, calmly, "if one were drawing lots,
for example, what more simple than this? I take one of these pieces--you
see there is nothing on it--I print a red cross with my pencil; there,
it is folded again, and they all go into my cap."
"Enough, Calabressa," Brand said, impatiently; "you show me that you
have questioned me closely enough. There is enough said about it."
"I ask your pardon, my dear friend, there is not," said Calabressa,
politely; "for this is what I have to say now: draw one of the pieces of
paper."
Brand turned away.
"It is not a thing to be gone over again, I tell you; I have had enough
of it; let it rest."
"It must not rest. I beg of you--my friend, I insist--"
He pressed the cap on him. Brand, to get rid of him, drew one of the
papers and tossed it on to the table. Calabressa took it up, opened it,
and showed him the red cross.
"Yes, you are again unfortunate, my dear Monsieur Brand. Fate pursues
you, does it not? But wait one moment. Will you open the other three
papers?"
As Brand seemed impatient, Calabressa himself took them out and opened
them singly before him.
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