retire from the church. For this time he gained the porch without meeting with any impediment; but it was destined that he should pay it another visit that night. As he descended the steps leading into the street, a cavalier rushed against him with such violence, that both were nearly overturned by the concussion. Lorenzo put his hand to his sword.
“How now, Segnor?” said he; “what mean you by this rudeness?”
“Ha! is it you, Medina?” replied the new comer, whom Lorenzo by his voice now recognized for Don Christoval. “You are the luckiest fellow in the universe, not to have left the church before my return. In, in! my dear lad! they will be here immediately!”
“Who will be here?”
“The old hen and all her pretty little chickens. In, I say; and then you shall know the whole history.”
Lorenzo followed him into the cathedral, and they concealed themselves behind the statue of St. Francis.
“And now,” said our hero, “may I take the liberty of asking what is the meaning of all this haste and rapture?”
“Oh! Lorenzo, we shall see such a glorious sight! The prioress of St. Clare and her whole train of nuns are coming hither. You are to know, that the pious father Ambrosio [the Lord reward him for it!] will upon no account move out of his own precincts. It being absolutely necessary for every fashionable convent to have him for its confessor, the nuns are in consequence obliged to visit him at the abbey; since, when the mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must needs go to the mountain. Now the prioress of St. Clare, the better to escape the gaze of such impure eyes as belong to yourself and your humble servant, thinks proper to bring her holy flock to confession in the dusk: she is to be admitted into the abbey-chapel by yon private door. The porteress of St. Clare, who is a worthy old soul and a particular friend of mine, has just assured me of their being here in a few moments. There is news for you, you rogue! We shall see some of the prettiest faces in Madrid!”
“In truth, Christoval, we shall do no such thing. The nuns are always veiled.”
“No! no! I know better. On entering a place of worship, they ever take off their veils, from respect to the saint to whom ’Tis dedicated. But hark, they are coming! Silence! silence! Observe, and be convinced.”
“Good!” said Lorenzo to himself; “I may possibly discover to whom the vows are addressed of this mysterious stranger.”
Scarcely had Don Christoval ceased to speak, when the domina of St. Clare appeared, followed by a long procession of nuns. Each upon entering the church took off her veil. The prioress crossed her hands upon her bosom, and made a profound reverence as she passed the statue of St. Francis, the patron of this cathedral. The nuns followed her example, and several moved onwards without having satisfied Lorenzo’s curiosity. He almost began to despair of seeing the mystery cleared up, when, in paying her respects to St. Francis, one of the nuns happened to drop her rosary. As she stooped to pick it up the light flashed full in her face. At the same moment she dexterously removed the letter from beneath the image, placed it in her bosom, and hastened to resume her rank in the procession.
“Ha!” said Christoval in a low voice, “here we have some little intrigue; no doubt.”
“Agnes, by heaven!” cried Lorenzo.
“What, your sister? Diavolo! Then somebody, I suppose, will have to pay for our peeping.”
“And shall pay for it without delay,” replied the incensed brother.
The pious procession had now entered the abbey; the door was already closed upon it. The unknown immediately quitted his concealment, and hastened to leave the church: ere he could effect his intention, he descried Medina stationed in his passage. The stranger hastily retreated, and drew his hat over his eyes.
“Attempt not to fly me!” exclaimed Lorenzo; “I will know who you are, and what were the contents of that letter.”
“Of that letter?” repeated the unknown. “And by what title do you ask the question?”
“By a title of which I am now ashamed; but it becomes not you to question me. Either reply circumstantially to my demands, or answer me with your sword.”
“The latter method will be the shortest,” rejoined the other, drawing his rapier; “come on, Segnor Bravo! I am ready.”
Burning with rage, Lorenzo hastened to the attack: the antagonists had already exchanged several passes, before Christoval, who at that moment had more sense than either of them, could throw himself between their weapons.
“Hold! hold! Medina!” he exclaimed; “remember the consequences of shedding blood on consecrated ground!”
The stranger immediately dropped his sword.
“Medina?” he cried. “Great God, is it possible! Lorenzo, have you quite forgotten Raymond de las Cisternas?”
Lorenzo’s astonishment increased with every succeeding moment. Raymond advanced towards him; but with a look of suspicion he drew back his hand, which the other was preparing to take.
“You here, Marquis? What is the meaning of all this? You engaged in a clandestine correspondence with my sister, whose affections———”
“Have ever been, and still are mine. But this is no fit place for an explanation. Accompany me to my hotel, and you shall know every thing. Who is that with you?”
“One whom I believe you to have seen before,” replied Don Christoval, “though probably not at church.”
“The conde d’Ossorio?”
“Exactly so, marquis.”
“I have no objection to entrusting you with my secret, for I am sure that I may depend upon your silence.”
“Then your opinion of me is better than my own, and therefore I must beg leave to decline your confidence. Do you go your own way, and I shall go mine. Marquis, where are you to be found?”
“As usual, at the hotel de las Cisternas; but remember that I am incognito, and that, if you wish to see me, you must ask for Alphonso d’Alvarada.”
“Good! good! Farewell, cavaliers!” said Don Christoval, and instantly departed.
“You, marquis,” said Lorenzo in the accent of surprise; “you, Alphonso d’Alvarada?”
“Even so, Lorenzo: but unless you have already heard my story from your sister, I have much to relate that will astonish you. Follow me, therefore, to my hotel without delay.”
At this moment the porter of the Capuchins entered the cathedral to lock up the doors for the night. The two noblemen instantly withdrew, and hastened with all speed to the palace de las Cisternas.
—
“Well, Antonia,” said the aunt, as soon as she had quitted the church, “what think you of our gallants? Don Lorenzo really seems a very obliging good sort of young man: he paid you some attention, and nobody knows what may come of it. But as to Don Christoval, I protest to you, he is the very ph?nix of politeness; so gallant! so well- bred! so sensible, and so pathetic! Well! if ever man can prevail upon me to break my vow never to marry, it will be that Don Christoval. You see, niece, that every thing turns out exactly as I told you: the very moment that I produced myself in Madrid, I knew that I should be surrounded by admirers. When I took off my veil, did you see, Antonia, what an effect the action had upon the conde? And when I presented him my hand, did you observe the air of passion with which he kissed it? If ever I witnessed real love, I then saw it impressed upon Don Christoval’s countenance!”
Now Antonia had observed the air with which Don Christoval had kissed this same hand; but as she drew conclusions from it somewhat different from her aunt’s, she was wise enough to hold her tongue. As this is the only instance known of a woman’s ever having done so, it was judged worthy to be recorded here.
The old lady continued her discourse to Antonia in the same strain, till they gained the street in which was their lodging. Here a crowd collected before their door permitted them not to approach it; and placing themselves on the opposite side of the street, they endeavoured to make out what had drawn all these people together. After some minutes the crowd formed itself into a circle; and now Antonia perceived in the midst of it a woman of extraordinary height, who whirled herself repeatedly round and round, using all sorts of extravagant gestures. Her dress was composed of shreds of various-coloured silks and linens fantastically arranged, yet not entirely without taste. Her head was covered with a kind of turban ornamented with vine-leaves and wild flowers. She seemed much
