"Yes," he said at last, "something has worried me very much. I can trust you not to speak—never to speak, even to my wife, of what I am going to say—especially if anything should happen," he added, as though with a painful afterthought.
"I will never speak of it," replied Pietro, gravely.
"I know you will not. We had a consultation the other day. Of course they were very careful not to tell me what they thought, but I could not help guessing it. You know how truthful my wife is—she could not deny it when I put the question directly. It is all up with me, my dear fellow, and I know it. I am consumptive. It will last a year at the most."
"I do not believe a word of it!" exclaimed Ghisleri, with unusual heat. "You are not in the least like a consumptive man!"
"The doctor is a good specialist," said Arden, quietly. "But that is not all. I have been so happy—I am so happy in many ways still—that I am weak enough to cling to my life, such as it is. But there is something else, Ghisleri. I knew I was ill, and I knew there was danger—but this is different. I had hoped to see my child, even if I were to die. I do not hope to see it now—you understand? Those things are always inherited."
A deadly paleness came over Arden's face, and his clear brown eyes seemed unsteady for a moment. His face twitched nervously, and his hands were strained as they grasped the arms of his chair. Ghisleri looked very grave.
"I repeat that I believe the doctor to be wholly mistaken. It would hardly be the first time that doctors have made such mistakes. Consumptive people do not behave as you do. They always feel that they are getting well, until the very last, and they have a regular cough, not to be mistaken, and they eat a great deal. You are quite different."
"But he examined, me so carefully," objected Arden, though he could not help seeing a ray of hope.
"I cannot help that. He was mistaken."
That afternoon Ghisleri telegraphed to a great European celebrity whom he knew in Paris, to come if possible at once, no matter at what sacrifice of money. Forty-eight hours later the man of genius was breakfasting with Pietro in his rooms.