“Unfortunately, I cannot,” Brand said, calmly; “these are things one is not permitted to talk about.”

“But I must insist on it, my dear friend.”

“Then I must insist on refusing you.”

“You are trustworthy.  No matter:  here is something which I think will remove your suspicions, my good friend—­or shall we not rather say your scruples?”

He took from his pocket-book a card, and placed it somewhat ostentatiously on the table.  Brand examined it, and then stared at Calabressa in surprise.

“You come with the authority of the Council?”

“By the goodness of Heaven,” Calabressa exclaimed with a laugh, “you have arrived at the truth this time!”

CHAPTER LI.

THE CONJURER.

There was no mistaking the fact that Calabressa had come armed with ample authority from the Council, and yet it was with a strange reluctance that Brand forced himself to answer the questions that Calabressa proceeded to put to him.  He had already accepted his doom.  The bitterness of it was over.  He would rather have let the past be forgotten altogether, and himself go forward blindly to the appointed end.  Why those needless explanations and admissions?

Moreover, Calabressa’s questions, which had been thought over during long railway journeys, were exceedingly crafty.  They touched here and there on certain small points, as if he were building up for himself a story.  But at last Brand said, by way of protest,

“Look here, Calabressa.  I see you are empowered to ask me any questions you like—­and I am quite willing to answer—­about the business of the Council.  But really, don’t you see, I would rather not speak of private matters.  What can the Council want to know about Natalie Lind?  Leave her out of it, like a good fellow.”

“Oh yes, my dear Monsieur Brand,” said Calabressa, with a smile, “leave her out of it, truly, when she has gone to the Council; when the Council have said, ‘Child, you have not appealed to us for nothing;’ when it is through her that I have travelled all through the cold and wet, and am now sitting here.  Remember this, my friend, that the beautiful Natalushka is now a—­what do you call it?—­a ward” (Calabressa put this word in English into the midst of his odd French), “and a ward of a sufficiently powerful court, I can assure you, monsieur!  Therefore, I say, I cannot leave the beautiful child out.  She is of importance to me; why am I here otherwise?  Be considerate, my friend; it is not impertinence; it is not curiosity.”

Then he proceeded with his task; getting, in a roundabout, cunning, shrewd way, at a pretty fair version of what had occurred.  And he was exceedingly circumspect.  He endeavored, by all sorts of circumlocutions, to hide from Brand the real drift of his inquiry.  He would betray suspicion of no one.  His manner was calm, patient, almost indifferent.  All this time Brand’s thoughts were far away.  He was speaking to Calabressa, but he was thinking of Naples.