Enter FRANCESCA, hastily.

  FRANCESCA.  My lord, this outrage—­
                [He looks up.]
Father, are you ill? 
You seem unhappy.  Have I troubled you? 
You heard how passionate and bad I was,
When Ritta told me of the Count Paolo. 
Dear father, calm yourself; and let me ask
A child’s forgiveness.  ’Twas undutiful
To doubt your wisdom.  It is over now. 
I only thought you might have trusted me
With any counsel.

  GUIDO. [Aside.] Would I had!

FRANCESCA.  Ah! well,
I understand it all, and you were right. 
Only the danger of it.  Think, my lord,
If I had loved this man at the first sight: 
We all have heard of such things.  Think, again,
If I had loved him—­as I then supposed
You wished me to—­’twould have been very sad. 
But no, dear sir, I kept my heart secure,
Nor will I loose it till you give the word. 
I’m wiser than you thought me, you perceive. 
But when we saw him, face to face, together,
Surely you might have told me then.

GUIDO.  Francesca,
My eyes are old—­I did not clearly see—­Faith,
it escaped my thoughts.  Some other things
Came in my head.  I was as ignorant
Of Count Paolo’s coming as yourself. 
The brothers are so like.

  FRANCESCA.  Indeed?

GUIDO.  Yes, yes. 
One is the other’s counterpart, in fact;
And even now it may not be—­O! shame! 
I lie by habit. [Aside.

FRANCESCA.  Then there is a hope? 
He may be Lanciotto, after all? 
O! joy—­

      Enter a SERVANT.

  SERVANT.  The Count Paolo. [Exit.

FRANCESCA.  Misery! 
That name was not Lanciotto!

GUIDO.  Farewell, child. 
I’ll leave you with the Count:  he’ll make it plain. 
It seems ’twas Count Paolo. [Going.

FRANCESCA.  Father!

GUIDO.  Well.

FRANCESCA.  You knew it from the first! [Exit GUIDO.]
Let me begone: 
I could not look him in the face again
With the old faith.  Besides, ’twould anger him
To have a living witness of his fraud
Ever before him; and I could not trust—­
Strive as I might—­my happiness to him,
As once I did.  I could not lay my hand
Upon his shoulder, and look up to him,
Saying, Dear father, pilot me along
Past this dread rock, through yonder narrow strait. 
Saints, no!  The gold that gave my life away
Might, even then, be rattling in his purse,
Warm from the buyer’s hand.  Look on me, Heaven! 
Him thou didst sanctify before my eyes,
Him thou didst charge, as thy great deputy,
With guardianship of a weak orphan girl,