Again he paced his chamber hastily. Then stopping, his eye fell upon the picture of his once-admired Madonna. He tore it with indignation from the wall: he threw it on the ground, and spurned it from him with his foot.
“The prostitute!”
Unfortunate Matilda! Her paramour forgot that for his sake alone she had forfeited her claim to virtue; and his only reason for despising her was that she had loved him much too well.
He threw himself into a chair which stood near the table. He saw the card with Elvira’s address. He took it up, and it brought to his recollection his promise respecting a confessor. He passed a few minutes in doubt: but Antonia’s empire over him was already too much decided to permit his making a long resistance to the idea which struck him. He resolved to be the confessor himself. He could leave the abbey unobserved without difficulty: by wrapping up his head in his cowl he hoped to pass through the streets without being recognised: by taking these precautions, and by recommending secrecy to Elvira’s family, he doubted not to keep Madrid in ignorance that he had broken his vow never to see the outside of the abbey walls. Matilda was the only person whose vigilance he dreaded: but by informing her at the refectory that during the whole of that day, business would confine him to his cell, he thought himself secure from her wakeful jealousy. Accordingly, at the hours when the Spaniards are generally taking their siesta, he ventured to quit the abbey by a private door, the key of which was in his possession. The cowl of his habit was thrown over his face: from the heat of the weather the streets were almost totally deserted: the monk met with few people, found the Strada di San Iago, and arrived without accident at Donna Elvira’s door. He rang, was admitted, and immediately ushered into an upper apartment.
It was here that he ran the greatest risk of a discovery. Had Leonella been at home, she would have recognized him directly: her communicative disposition would never have permitted her to rest till all Madrid was informed that Ambrosio had ventured out of the abbey, and visited her sister. Fortune here stood the monk’s friend. On Leonella’s return home, she found a letter instructing her that a cousin was just dead, who had left what little he possessed between herself and Elvira. To secure this bequest she was obliged to set out for Cordova without losing a moment. Amidst all her foibles her heart was truly warm and affectionate, and she was unwilling to quit her sister in so dangerous a state. But Elvira insisted upon her taking the journey, conscious that in her daughter’s forlorn situation no increase of fortune, however trifling, ought to be neglected. Accordingly, Leonella left Madrid, sincerely grieved at her sister’s illness, and giving some few sighs to the memory of the amiable but inconstant Don Christoval. She was fully persuaded that at first she had made a terrible breach in his heart: but hearing nothing more of him, she supposed that he had quitted the pursuit, disgusted by the lowness of her origin, and knowing upon other terms than marriage he had nothing to hope from such a dragon of virtue as she professed herself; or else, that being naturally capricious and changeable, the remembrance of her charms had been effaced from the Condé’s heart by those of some newer beauty. Whatever was the cause of her losing him, she lamented it sorely. She strove in vain, as she assured everybody who was kind enough to listen to her, to tear his image from her too susceptible heart. She affected the airs of a lovesick virgin, and carried them all to the most ridiculous excess. She heaved lamentable sighs, walked with her arms folded, uttered long soliloquies, and her discourse generally turned upon some forsaken maid who expired of a broken heart! Her fiery locks were always ornamented with a garland of willow; every evening she was seen straying upon the banks of a rivulet by moonlight; and she declared herself a violent admirer of murmuring streams and nightingales;
“Of lonely haunts, and twilight groves,
Places which pale passion loves!”
Such was the state of Leonella’s mind, when obliged to quit Madrid. Elvira was out of patience at all these follies, and endeavoured at persuading her to act like a reasonable woman. Her advice was thrown away: Leonella assured her at parting that nothing could make her forget the perfidious Don Christoval. In this point she was fortunately mistaken. An honest youth of Cordova, journeyman to an apothecary, found that her fortune would be sufficient to set him up in a genteel shop of his own: in consequence of this reflection he avowed himself her admirer. Leonella was not inflexible. The ardour of his sighs melted her heart, and she soon consented to make him the happiest of mankind. She wrote to inform her sister of her marriage; but, for reasons which will be explained hereafter, Elvira never answered her letter.
Ambrosio was conducted into the antechamber to that where Elvira was reposing. The female domestic who had admitted him left him alone while she announced his arrival to her mistress. Antonia, who had been by her mother’s bedside, immediately came to him.
“Pardon me, father,” said she, advancing towards him; when recognizing his features, she stopped suddenly, and uttered a cry of joy. “Is it possible!” she continued; “do not my eyes deceive me? Has the worthy Ambrosio broken through his resolution, that he may soften the agonies of the best of women? What pleasure will this visit give my mother! Let me not delay for a moment the comfort which your piety and wisdom will
