"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. On each and all was the same red mark.
But now Brand was indifferent no longer
"What do you mean, Calabressa?" he said, quickly.