But when they came to Brand’s brief description of what took place in Lisle Street on the night of the casting of the lot, Calabressa became greatly excited, though he strove to appear perfectly calm.

“You are sure,” he said, quickly, “that was precisely what happened?”

“As far as I know,” said Brand, carelessly.  “But why go into it?  If I do not complain, why should any one else?”

“Did I say that any one complained?” observed the astute Calabressa.

“Then why should any one wish to interfere?  I am satisfied.  You do not mean to say, Calabressa, that any one over there thinks that I am anxious to back out of what I have undertaken—­that I am going down on my knees and begging to be let off?  Well, at all events, Natalie does not think that,” he added, as if it did not matter much what any other thought.

Calabressa was silent; but his eyes were eager and bright, and he was quickly tapping the palm of his left hand with the forefinger of the right.  Then he regarded Brand with a sharp, inquisitive look.  Then he jumped to his feet.

“Good-night, my friend,” he said, hurriedly.

But Brand rose also, and sought to detain him.

“No, no, my good Calabressa, you are not going yet; you have kept me talking for your amusement; now it is your turn.  You have not yet told me about Natalie and her mother.”

“They are well—­they are indeed well, I assure you,” said Calabressa, uneasily.  He was clearly anxious to get away.  By this time he had got hold of his cloak and swung it round his shoulders.

“Calabressa, sit down, and tell me something about Natalie.  What made her undertake such a journey?  Is she troubled?  Is she sad?  I thought her life was full of interest now, her mother being with her.”

Calabressa had got his cap, and had opened the door.

“Another time, dear Monsieur Brand, I will sit down and tell you all about the beautiful, brave child, and my old friend her mother.  Yes, yes—­another time—­to-morrow—­next day.  At present one is overwhelmed with affairs, do you see?”

So saying, he forced Brand to shake hands with him, and went out, shutting the door behind him.

But no sooner had he got into the street than the eager, talkative, impulsive nature of the man, so long confined, broke loose.  He took no heed that it was raining hard.  He walked fast; he talked aloud to himself in his native tongue, in broken interjectional phrases; occasionally he made use of violent gestures, which were not lessened in their effect by the swaying cape of his cloak.

“Ah, those English—­those English!” he was excitedly saying—­“such children!—­blue, clear eyes that see nothing—­the devil! why should they meddle in such affairs?  To play at such a game!—­fool’s mate; scholar’s mate; asses and idiots’ mate—­they have scarcely got a pawn out, and they are wondering what they will do, when whizz! along comes the queen,