An event was in preparation which, had she known it, would have relieved her from her inquietude. Lorenzo now waited only for a favourable opportunity to inform the Duke of his intended marriage: however, a circumstance which occurred at this period, obliged him to delay his explanation for a few days longer.
Don Raymond’s malady seemed to gain ground. Lorenzo was constantly at his bedside, and treated him with a tenderness truly fraternal. Both the cause and effects of the disorder were highly afflicting to the brother of Agnes: yet Theodore’s grief was scarcely less sincere. That amiable boy quitted not his master for a moment, and put every means in practice to console and alleviate his sufferings. The Marquis had conceived so rooted an affection for his deceased mistress, that it was evident to all that he never could survive her loss: nothing could have prevented him from sinking under his grief but the persuasion of her being still alive, and in need of his assistance. Though convinced of its falsehood, his attendants encouraged him in a belief which formed his only comfort. He was assured daily that fresh perquisitions were making respecting the fate of Agnes: stories were invented recounting the various attempts made to get admittance into the convent; and circumstances were related which, though they did not promise her absolute recovery, at least were sufficient to keep his hopes alive. The Marquis constantly fell into the most terrible excess of passion when informed of the failure of these supposed attempts. Still he would not credit that the succeeding ones would have the same fate, but flattered himself that the next would prove more fortunate.
Theodore was the only one who exerted himself to realize his master’s chimeras. He was eternally busied in planning schemes for entering the convent, or at least of obtaining from the nuns some intelligence of Agnes. To execute these schemes was the only inducement which could prevail on him to quit Don Raymond. He became a very Proteus, changing his shape every day; but all his metamorphoses were to very little purpose: he regularly returned to the Palace de las Cisternas without any intelligence to confirm his master’s hopes. One day he took it into his head to disguise himself as a beggar. He put a patch over his left eye, took his guitar in hand, and posted himself at the gate of the convent.
“If Agnes is really confined in the convent,” thought he, “and hears my voice, she will recollect it, and possibly may find means to let me know that she is here.”
With this idea he mingled with a crowd of beggars who assembled daily at the gate of St. Clare to receive soup, which the nuns were accustomed to distribute at twelve o’clock. All were provided with jugs or bowls to carry it away; but as Theodore had no utensil of this kind, he begged leave to eat his portion at the convent door. This was granted without difficulty: his sweet voice, and in spite of his patched eye, his engaging countenance, won the heart of the good old porteress, who, aided by a lay-sister, was busied in serving to each his mess. Theodore was bad to stay till the others should depart, and promised that his request should then be granted. The youth desired no better, since it was not to eat soup that he presented himself at the convent. He thanked the porteress for her permission, retired from the door, and seating himself upon a large stone, amused himself in tuning his guitar while the beggars were served.
As soon as the crowd was gone, Theodore was beckoned to the gate, and desired to come in. He obeyed with infinite readiness, but affected great respect at passing the hallowed threshold, and to be much daunted by the presence of the reverend ladies. His feigned timidity flattered the vanity of the nuns, who endeavoured to reassure him. The porteress took him into her own little parlour: in the meanwhile, the lay-sister went to the kitchen, and soon returned with a double portion of soup, of better quality than what was given to the beggars. His hostess added some fruits and confections from her own private store, and both encouraged the youth to dine heartily. To all these attentions he replied with much seeming gratitude, and abundance of blessings upon his benefactresses. While he ate, the nuns admired the delicacy of his features, the beauty of his hair, and the sweetness and grace which accompanied all his actions. They lamented to each other in whispers, that so charming a youth should be exposed to the seductions of the world, and agreed, that he would be a worthy pillar of the Catholic church. They concluded their conference by resolving that heaven would be rendered a real service if they entreated the prioress to intercede with Ambrosio for the beggar’s admission into the order of Capuchins.
This being determined, the porteress, who was a person of great influence in the convent, posted away in all haste to the domina’s cell. Here she made so flaming a narrative of Theodore’s merits that the old lady grew curious to see him. Accordingly, the porteress was commissioned to
