“She did,” asserted the contessa. “You are a very lucky man, Mr. Armstrong,” she continued, looking into his face meaningly; “my husband is not so fortunate.”
While Armstrong hesitated in order to make no mistake in his reply, Helen returned accompanied by Cerini, and the moment when he could have formulated an answer had passed. The old man held up a finger reproachfully as he saw the contessa.
“You have never made another appointment to study those manuscripts with me,” he said, as he took her hand. “Tell me that your interest has not flagged.”
The librarian spoke feelingly, although he tried to conceal his disappointment. It was such a triumph that his work should appeal to one so devoted to a life of social gayety. Amélie remembered her interview with him at the library and felt that she deserved the reproach.
“Surely not,” she replied, with so much apparent sincerity in her voice that the old man believed her and was mollified. “I have even received a new impetus from listening to Mr. Armstrong’s enthusiastic account of his work with you and his impatience to return to it.”
Armstrong glanced quickly at Helen as the contessa attributed to him a desire so opposed to the definite statement he had made the day before, while Cerini smiled contentedly. Helen gave no sign of having particularly noticed the remark, but Jack felt keenly his inability at that moment to set himself right.
“I was just about to take my departure,” Amélie continued, “and I am glad not to be obliged to leave the invalid alone. I know how delighted you will be to take my place,” she said to Cerini.
The old man dropped into the chair the contessa left vacant, while Armstrong watched the two figures until they disappeared in the hallway. Then he turned to his friend—but it was to Cerini the priest, the father-confessor, rather than to Cerini the librarian. He felt the seriousness of the situation more acutely than at any time since a realization of its complexity came to him. Cerini watched him curiously.
“You are not so well to-day,” he said, at length. “You must go slowly, my son, and give Nature ample time to make her repairs.”
“I fear even Nature has no remedy sufficiently powerful to cure my malady,” Armstrong replied, bitterly. “I would to God she had!”