The bosom of the prisoner heaved, while Gelsomina shuddered.
"Why hast thou yielded to the weakness of nature, and entered the cell?" asked the good Carmelite, endeavoring to throw into his eye a reproof, that the pathos and kindness of his tones contradicted. "Didst thou know the character of the man thou loved?"
"Immaculate Maria!" exclaimed the girl—"no—no—no—no!"
"And now that thou hast learned the truth, surely thou art no longer the victim of wayward fancies!"
The gaze of Gelsomina was bewildered, but anguish prevailed over all other expression. She bowed her head, partly in shame, but more in sorrow, without answering.
"I know not, children, what end this interview can answer," continued the monk. "I am sent hither to receive the last confession of a Bravo, and surely, one who has so much cause to condemn the deception he has practised, would not wish to hear the details of such a life?"
"No—no—no—" murmured Gelsomina again, enforcing her words with a wild gesture of the hand.
"It is better, father, that she should believe me all that her fancy can imagine as monstrous," said Jacopo, in a thick voice: "she will then learn to hate my memory."
Gelsomina did not speak, but the negative gesture was repeated franticly.
"The heart of the poor child hath been sorely touched," said the Carmelite, with concern. "We must not treat so tender a flower rudely. Hearken to me, daughter, and consult thy reason, more than thy weakness."