He was fair-haired and blue-eyed, was well made, and very tall. In character he was neither better nor worse than most men of his age; but as a steward he was tolerably honest, and as a lover he was thoroughly sincere. He went with a quick step into the central hall to meet his visitor. He supposed that the vicar had come about flowers for the feast of SS. Peter and Paul, which was on the morrow. Though the villa gardens were wholly neglected, they were still rich in flowers which wanted no care—lilies, lavender, old-fashioned roses, oleanders red and white, and magnolia trees.
'Good evening, Reverend Father, you do me honour,' he said, as he saw Gesualdo. 'Is there anything that I can do for you? I am your humble servant.'
Gesualdo looked at him curiously. He had never noticed the young man before. He had seen him ride past; he had seen him at mass; he had spoken to him of the feasts of the Church; but he had never noticed him. Now he looked at him curiously as he answered, without any preface whatever,—
'I am come to speak to you of Generosa Fè, the wife of Tasso Tassilo.'
The young steward coloured violently. He was astonished and silent.
'She loves you,' said Gesualdo, simply.
Falko Melegari made a gesture as though he implied that it was not his place either to deny or to affirm.
'She loves you,' said Gesualdo again.
The young man had that fatuous smile which unconsciously expresses the consciousness of conquest. But he was honest in his passion and ardent in it.
'Not so much as I love her,' he said, rapturously, forgetful of his hearer.