'It was fever; there is no such thing, Bianca,' he said harshly, to bring back her wandering mind to peace.
'You say so; I believe you. But when you are gone, when I have finished my prayers and reading, when I am alone in my room with the shadows the lamps throw, I shall see again that night's vision: my head will swim, my brain whirl, my teeth chatter. Father is in despair now because that night's numbers did not come right; he says I don't know how to interpret; he wants me to call up the spirit again. He thinks now I am a medium, and he gives me no peace. I am not his daughter now; he only looks on me as a mediator between him and Fortune. He watches every word I say, looks enviously at me or haughtily, and goes about thinking of some queer discipline, some privations or other to enable me to see the spirit again, to make my soul pure like my body, and my sight clear. He leaves me alone at the beginning of the week, but on Thursday night he comes and begs me--fancy, he implores me--to call the spirit; that aged man, whose hand I kiss respectfully, kneels before me, as at the altar, to soften me. On Friday he gets wild; he never notices how frightened I get; he thinks it is the coming of the spirits that excites me. The other night, to get away from the torture I find unbearable, I locked my door: I was so bold as to deny father access to my room. Well, he came, knocked, softly at first, then loudly; he spoke to me entreatingly, he ordered me to see the spirit--in a rage first, and then abjectly. I stopped my ears not to hear him, put my head down in the pillows; I bit the sheet to choke my sobs. Twenty times I wanted to open the door, but terror nailed me to my bed. Father wept. Mother, mother, I disobeyed you! You could die for father, but I could not do that for him.'
'Poor darling!' he murmured, trying to calm her down with gentle, compassionate words, petting her hands, as if he wanted to set her to sleep or magnetize her.
'Yes, yes, pity me, for I am so wretched, so unhappy, I envy any beggar on the street. Pity me, because the one person who should love me, take care of my health and happiness, dreams instead about getting money for me, a great lot, and makes me suffer in body, in mind, for it; pity me, for I am an unhappy woman, doomed to a dark ending. In all the wide world, I only have you to care for me!'