’"Certainly it is.  Nobody doubts that.”

’"But—­I’m not joking—­isn’t it so?”

’"Why, of course it’s so—­and we are not joking.  But what of it.  What of it?  How does that concern us?”

’"In this way, comrades—­we’ll attach an illustrious name to them!”

’The lively conversation stopped.  The faces were turned inquiringly upon Carl.  What sort of riddle might this be?  Where was an illustrious name to be borrowed?  And who was to borrow it?

’Carl sat down, and said: 

’"Now, I have a perfectly serious thing to propose.  I think it is the only way to keep us out of the almshouse, and I believe it to be a perfectly sure way.  I base this opinion upon certain multitudinous and long-established facts in human history.  I believe my project will make us all rich.”

’"Rich!  You’ve lost your mind.”

’"No, I haven’t.”

’"Yes, you have—­you’ve lost your mind.  What do you call rich?”

’"A hundred thousand francs apiece.”

’"He has lost his mind.  I knew it.”

’"Yes, he has.  Carl, privation has been too much for you, and—­”

’"Carl, you want to take a pill and get right to bed.”

’"Bandage him first—­bandage his head, and then—­”

’"No, bandage his heels; his brains have been settling for weeks—­I’ve noticed it.”

’"Shut up!” said Millet, with ostensible severity, “and let the boy have his say.  Now, then—­come out with your project, Carl.  What is it?”

’"Well, then, by way of preamble I will ask you to note this fact in human history:  that the merit of many a great artist has never been acknowledged until after he was starved and dead.  This has happened so often that I make bold to found a law upon it.  This law:  that the merit of every great unknown and neglected artist must and will be recognised and his pictures climb to high prices after his death.  My project is this:  we must cast lots—­one of us must die.”

’The remark fell so calmly and so unexpectedly that we almost forgot to jump.  Then there was a wild chorus of advice again—­medical advice—­for the help of Carl’s brain; but he waited patiently for the hilarity to calm down, and then went on again with his project: 

’"Yes, one of us must die, to save the others—­and himself.  We will cast lots.  The one chosen shall be illustrious, all of us shall be rich.  Hold still, now—­hold still; don’t interrupt—­I tell you I know what I am talking about.  Here is the idea.  During the next three months the one who is to die shall paint with all his might, enlarge his stock all he can—­not pictures, no! skeleton sketches, studies, parts of studies, fragments of studies, a dozen dabs of the brush on each—­meaningless, of course, but his, with his cipher on them; turn out fifty a day, each to contain some peculiarity or mannerism easily detectable as his—­they’re the things