'But the means,' the doctor went on to say—'the means were risky, hazardous, very dangerous. Your passionate desire for fortune made you go beyond bounds, made you forget all the sufferings you were unconsciously spreading around you. Do you not see, my lord? You have sickness, wretchedness, around you, and in you. Passion has carried you away, and the loveliest, dearest of women, your daughter, must fall into the abyss with you.'
'Poor darling! poor darling!' the Marquis muttered pityingly.
'You love your daughter, do you not?' Dr. Amati asked, wishing to touch all the chords of feeling.
'I love no one but her; I love her above everything,' Formosa said quickly, with tears in his eyes again.
'Well, there is a way of protecting that innocent young life from all the physical and moral anguish that daily eats it up; there is a means of taking her out of these unhealthy surroundings of decent but stern poverty that she suffers from in every nerve; there is a means of securing her a healthy, comfortable future, with the peace and quietness her pure soul deserves; there is a way for her to recover, and it is in your hands.'
'I tried it, you know,' the Marquis di Formosa said despairingly; 'but I did not succeed.'
'You do not take my meaning,' the doctor went on, barely keeping in his impatience, as he saw that the Marquis was still blinded. 'I am not speaking of the lottery, which has been so disastrous to your family, a torment to your daughter, the despair of all who love you and wish you well. How can you suppose I was referring to the lottery?'
'Still, it is the only way to make money—a lot of money. Only with that can I save Bianca Maria.'
'You are making a mistake,' the doctor answered still more coldly. 'I am speaking of something else; ease and fortune can be found elsewhere.'
'It is not possible. There is no limit to what one can win at the lottery....'