PAOLO. Well interpreted!
The Sphinx were simple in your skilful hands!
FRANCESCA. It has become your turn to sneer.
PAOLO. But I
Have gall to feed my bitterness, while you
Jest in the wanton ease of happiness.
Stop! there is peril in our talk.
FRANCESCA. As how?
PAOLO. 'Tis dangerous to talk about one's self;
It panders selfishness. My duty waits.
FRANCESCA. My future lord's affairs? I quite forgot
Count Lanciotto.
PAOLO. I, too, shame upon me. [Aside.
FRANCESCA. Does he resemble you?
PAOLO. Pray drop me, lady.
FRANCESCA. Nay, answer me.