A slight flush rose on the waxen pallor of Gesualdo's face, but he still kept silence.
"You are not always prudent, my daughter," said Gesualdo, with a faint smile.
"You will burn forever if you persist in such hideous wickedness," said Gesualdo again and again to him.
In sole answer to the arguments of Gesualdo she retorted in scornful words.
Gesualdo was a weak man and physically timid; but here he hesitated but one instant.
She was friends with Gesualdo; they had both come from the Bocca d'Arno, and it was a link of common memory and mutual attachment.
Gesualdo looked after her, and a subtile warmth and pain passed through him, bringing with it a sharp sense of guilt.
Gesualdo gave a low cry, and leaned against the stem of a cypress-tree to save himself from falling.
Gesualdo said nothing, but she saw the nerves of his mouth quiver.
Gesualdo bowed his head and spread out his hands, palm downward, in a gesture which meant hopeless doubt.