One by one the buttons were drawn forth from the bag,--each man, as he
drew his, exhibiting it in his open palm, to satisfy the others as to
its colour, and then placing it in a common receptacle,--against the
contingency of its being required again for another like lottery!
Solemn as was the character of the ceremony, it was not conducted either
in solemnity or silence. Many of the wretches even jested while it was
in progress; and a stranger to the dread conditions under which the
drawing was being made might have supposed it a raffle for some trifling
prize!
The faces of a few, however, would have contradicted this supposition.
A few there were who approached the oracle with cowed and craven looks;
and their trembling fingers, as they inserted them into the bag,
proclaimed an apprehension stronger than could have arisen from any mere
courting of chance in an ordinary casting of lots.
Those men who were noisiest and most gleeful _after_ they had drawn were
the ones who before it had shown the strongest signs of fear, and who
trembled most while performing the operation.
Some of them could not conceal even their demoniac joy at having drawn
blank, but danced about over the raft as if they had suddenly succeeded
to some splendid fortune.
The difference between this singular lottery and most others, was that
the blanks were the prizes,--the prize itself being the true blank,--the
ending of existence.
Le Gros continued to hold the bag, and with an air of nonchalance;
though anyone closely observing his countenance could tell that it was
assumed. As had been already proved, the French bully was at heart a
coward. Under the influence of angry passion, or excited by a desire
for revenge, he could show fight, and even fling himself into positions
of danger; but in a contest such as that in which he was now engaged a
cool strife, in which Fortune was his only antagonist, and in which he
could derive no advantage from any unfair subterfuge, his artificial
courage had entirely forsaken him.
So long as the lottery was in its earlier stages, and only a few buttons
had been taken out of the bag, he preserved his assumed air of
indifference. There were still many chances of life against that one of
death,--nearly twenty to one. As the drawing proceeded, however, and
one after another exhibited his black button, a change could be observed
passing over the features of the Frenchman. His apparent _sangfroid_
began to forsake him; while his glances betokened a feverish excitement,
fast hastening towards apprehension.
As each fresh hand came up out of the dark receptacle bearing the
evidence of its owner's fate, Le Gros was seen to cast hurried and
anxious glances towards the tiny circle of horn, held between the thumb
and forefinger, and each time that he saw the colour to be black his
countenance appeared to darken at the sight.
When the twentieth button had been brought forth, and still the red one
remained in the bag, the master of the ceremonies became fearfully
excited. He could no longer conceal his apprehension. His chances of
life were diminished to a point that might well inspire him with fear.
It was now but six to one,--for there were only six more tickets to be
disposed of.
At this crisis, Le Gros interrupted the drawing to reflect. Would he be
in a better position, if some one else held the bag? Perhaps that might
change the run of luck hitherto against him; and which he had been
cursing with all his might ever since the number had been going through
the teens. He had tried every way he could think of to tempt the red
ticket out of the bag. He had shaken the buttons time after time,--in
hopes of bringing it to the top, or in some position that might insure
its being taken up. But all to no purpose. It would obstinately stay
to the last.
What difference could it make were he to hand the bag over to some other
holder, and try his luck for the twenty-first chance? "Not any!" was
the mental reply he received to this mental inquiry. Better for him to
hold on as he had been doing. It was hardly possible--at least highly
improbable--that the red button should be the last. There had been
twenty-five chances to one against its being so. It is true twenty
black buttons had been drawn out before it,--in a most unexpected
manner,--still it was as likely to come next as any of the remaining
six.
It would be of no use changing the process,--so concluded he, in his own
mind,--and, with an air of affected recklessness, the Frenchman
signified to those around him that he was ready to continue the drawing.
Another man drew forth Number 21. Like those preceding it, the button,
was black!
Number 22 was fished out of the bag,--black also!