“And what brings her now to Madrid?” enquired Don Lorenzo, whom admiration of the young Antonia compelled to take a lively interest in the talkative old woman’s narration.
“Alas! Señor, her father-in-law being lately dead, the steward of his Murcian estates has refused to pay her pension any longer. With the design of supplicating his son to renew it, she is now come to Madrid; but I doubt, that she might have saved herself the trouble! You young noblemen have always enough to do with your money, and are not very often disposed to throw it away upon old women. I advised my sister to send Antonia with her petition; but she would not hear of such a thing. She is so obstinate! Well! She will find herself the worse for not following my counsels: the girl has a good pretty face, and possibly might have done much.”
“Ah! Señora,” interrupted Don Christoval, counterfeiting a passionate air; “If a pretty face will do the business, why has not your sister recourse to you?”
“Oh! Jesus! My lord, I swear you quite overpower me with your gallantry! But I promise you that I am too well aware of the danger of such expeditions to trust myself in a young nobleman’s power! No, no; I have as yet preserved my reputation without blemish or reproach, and I always knew how to keep the men at a proper distance.”
“Of that, señora, I have not the least doubt. But permit me to ask you; have you then any aversion to matrimony?”
“That is an home question. I cannot but confess, that if an amiable cavalier was to present himself. …”
Here she intended to throw a tender and significant look upon Don Christoval; but, as she unluckily happened to squint most abominably, the glance fell directly upon his companion: Lorenzo took the compliment to himself, and answered it by a profound bow.
“May I enquire,” said he, “the name of the Marquis?”
“The Marquis de las Cisternas.”
“I know him intimately well. He is not at present in Madrid, but is expected here daily. He is one of the best of men; and if the lovely Antonia will permit me to be her advocate with him, I doubt not my being able to make a favourable report of her cause.”
Antonia raised her blue eyes, and silently thanked him for the offer by a smile of inexpressible sweetness. Leonella’s satisfaction was much more loud and audible: indeed, as her niece was generally silent in her company, she thought it incumbent upon her to talk enough for both: this she managed without difficulty, for she very seldom found herself deficient in words.
“Oh! Señor!” she cried; “You will lay our whole family under the most signal obligations! I accept your offer with all possible gratitude, and return you a thousand thanks for the generosity of your proposal. Antonia, why do not you speak, child? While the cavalier says all sorts of civil things to you, you sit like a statue, and never utter a syllable of thanks, either bad, good, or indifferent!”
“My dear aunt, I am very sensible that. …”
“Fie, niece! How often have I told you, that you never should interrupt a person who is speaking!? When did you ever know me do such a thing? Are these your Murcian manners? Mercy on me! I shall never be able to make this girl anything like a person of good breeding. But pray, señor,” she continued, addressing herself to Don Christoval, “inform me, why such a crowd is assembled today in this cathedral?”
“Can you possibly be ignorant, that Ambrosio, abbot of this monastery, pronounces a sermon in this church every Thursday? All Madrid rings with his praises. As yet he has preached but thrice; but all who have heard him are so delighted with his eloquence, that it is as difficult to obtain a place at church, as at the first representation of a new comedy. His fame certainly must have reached your ears—”
“Alas! Señor, till yesterday I never had the good fortune to see Madrid; and at Cordova we are so little informed of what is passing in the rest of the world, that the name of Ambrosio has never been mentioned in its precincts.”
“You will find it in everyone’s mouth at Madrid. He seems to have fascinated the inhabitants; and not having attended his sermons myself, I am astonished at the enthusiasm which he has excited. The adoration paid him both by young and old, by man and woman is unexampled. The grandees load him with presents; their wives refuse to have any other confessor, and he is known through all the city by the name of the ‘man of holiness.’ ”
“Undoubtedly, señor, he is of noble origin—”
“That point still remains undecided. The late superior of the Capuchins found him while yet an infant at the abbey door. All attempts to discover who had left him there were vain, and the child himself could give no account of his parents. He was educated in the monastery, where he has remained ever since. He early showed a strong inclination for study and retirement, and as soon as he was of a proper age, he pronounced his vows. No one has ever appeared to claim him, or clear up the mystery which conceals his birth; and the monks, who find their account in the favour which is shown to their establishment from respect to him, have not hesitated to publish that he is a present to them from the Virgin. In truth the singular austerity of his life gives some countenance to the report. He is now thirty years old, every hour of which period has been
