The girl's mobile face, which had been drawn and quivering, at the doctor's commanding, quiet, amiable words, at that voice that had the magic power of giving her ease and faith in life, was getting tranquillized. Her soul, broken and tired, was resting.
'So be it,' she whispered, as if she was finishing an inward prayer aloud. Going up to the big chair, where her father lay looking quite broken down, she bent towards him, and in a very gentle voice said:
'I will do everything--all, Bianca Maria.'
'I only want one favour for my good, for my future health and happiness; promise to do it.'
'Whatever you like, dear; I am your servant.'
'It is a great favour. I will tell you later on, when we are in God's grace again, when we are both quieter, what it is. I have your word, father, your word--you have never failed.'
'You have my word,' he said, panting as if he were not fit to go on talking.
She understood; she bent with her usual filial submission and touched his hand with her lips; he lightly touched her forehead as a blessing. She went to Amati, held out her hand, and looked at him with such loving intensity that he grew pale, and, to hide his emotion, bowed down to kiss her hand. Slowly dragging her slender person, from failing strength, she went out of the room, leaving the two alone. The old man seemed wrapped in deep and rather sad reflections, for he raised his face to heaven and cast it down in an anguished way, shaking his head as if discouraged. The doctor saw that the right moment had come.
'Can you listen to me?' he asked very coldly.
'I would prefer ... I would like to wait for some other day, rather,' the Marquis answered in a feeble voice.
'It will be better to have the talk out to-day,' Amati said, with the same commanding coldness.
'It may be that from what I tell you you will find something to soothe you. You know that I am devoted to you.'
'I cannot say much to prove my devotion; I try when I can to act in that spirit. I am sincerely attached to both of you.'
'We know it; our debt of gratitude is great.'
'Do not speak of that. For some time past I have wished to tell you of a hope of mine, and I dared not. You know me better than to suppose that any material interest would influence me. You see, my lord, I do not want to recall the past to your memory, it is so sorrowful, but it is necessary to do it. You and your daughter have been in poor circumstances for some years, and it is certainly not your daughter's fault. Your intentions are loving and holy; they have a high motive all honest men must approve of--the setting up of your house and fortune, to get happiness for your daughter; it is a good intention, I do not deny it. I myself admire this noble wish of yours.'