"You may come in now."
"In this hat are both our names," said Gyáli, holding the hat before Desiderius: "draw one of them out: open it, read it, and then put both names into the fire. The one whose name you draw will do the honors to the Cochin-China Emperor's white elephant."
The two foes turned round toward the window. Lorand gazed out, while Gyáli played with his watch-chain.
The child unsuspectingly stepped up to the hat that served as the "urna sortis," and drew out one of the pieces of paper.
He opened it and read the name,
"Lorand Áronffy."
"Put them in the fire," said Gyáli.
Desiderius threw two pieces of lilac paper into the fire.
They were cold May days; outside the face of nature had been distorted, and it was freezing; in Lorand's fire-place a fire was blazing. The two pieces of paper were at once burnt up.
Only they were not those on which the two young men had written their names. Desiderius, without being noticed, had changed them for the dance programme, which he had cast into the fire. He kept the two fatal signatures to himself.