“Well,” Malvano sighed, “it’s the only way, I suppose; but it’s hard—very hard on a woman whose life has been wrecked as hers has.”
“Misericordia! My dear fellow,” cried Nenci impatiently. “Surely you won’t turn chicken-hearted after all this time? You’ve never shown the white feather yet.”
The doctor remained silent, and turning in his chair, bent over the small crucible beneath which the blue flame was burning; while his companion, casting a keen half-suspicious glance in his direction, also turned to the small vice fixed to his table and commenced work.
A long time elapsed in almost complete silence, so intent were both on what they were doing. Once—only once—did Malvano refer again to the subject of Gemma’s ring.
“Is she actually wearing it now?” he inquired.
“She did at dinner, I noticed,” Nenci answered. “But whether she wears her rings at night, I don’t know,” he laughed.
“Isn’t it—well—dangerous?”
“Dangerous! Not at all,” his companion replied impatiently. “She suspects nothing, absolutely nothing.”
Again they lapsed into unbroken silence.
Fully an hour went by, when Nenci rising, still in his shirt-sleeves, folded his arms, and exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction and confidence—