The reproachful melancholy of her voice touched the Bravo, who kissed the hand he held with Italian fervor.
"I should then repent me of the only hours of happiness I have known for years," he said. "Thou hast been to me, Gelsomina, like a flower in a desert—a pure spring to a feverish man—a gleam of hope to one suffering under malediction. No, no, not for a moment have I repented knowing thee, my Gelsomina!"
"'Twould not have made my life more happy, Carlo, to have thought I had added to thy sorrows. I am young, and ignorant of the world, but I know we should cause joy, and not pain, to those we esteem."
"Thy nature would teach thee this gentle lesson. But is it not strange that one like me should be suffered to visit the prison unattended by any other keeper?"
"I had not thought it so, Carlo; but surely, it is not common!"
"We have found so much pleasure in each other, dear Gessina, that we have overlooked what ought to have caused alarm."
"Alarm, Carlo!"
"Or, at least, distrust; for these wily senators do no act of mercy without a motive. But it is now too late to recall the past if we would; and in that which relates to thee I would not lose the memory of a moment. Let us proceed."
The slight cloud vanished from the face of the mild auditor of the Bravo; but still she did not move.
"Few pass this bridge, they say," she added tremulously, "and enter the world again; and yet thou dost not even ask why we are here, Carlo!"