One morning, the old lady overslept herself; and Aurora had already half opened the golden chambers of the east, when the Count hastily departed, as usual. Unfortunately, in his hurry to descend the ladder, his foot missed, and he fell heavily on the ground.
Don Luis de Cespedes, who slept in the room over Leonora's, had that morning risen earlier than usual to attend to some important engagements; and hearing the noise of Belflor's fall he opened his window to learn whence it proceeded. To his astonishment, he perceived a man just raising himself, with difficulty, from the earth, while Marcella was busily engaged in the balcony with the silken ladder, of which the Count had made such bad use in his descent. Scarcely believing his eyes, and rubbing them to make sure that he was awake, Don Luis stood for some time in amazement; but he was too soon convinced that what he saw was no illusion; and that the light of day, although just breaking, was bright enough to discover to him, too clearly, his disgrace.
Afflicted at this fatal sight, transported by a just wrath, he instantly sought the apartment of Leonora, holding the light by which he had been writing in one hand, and his sword in the other. With a frantic determination of sacrificing his daughter and her governante to his resentment, he struck the door of their chamber violently, and commanded them to admit him. Trembling, they obeyed his summons; when he entered with infuriated looks, and displaying his naked sword: "I come," he cried, "to wash out, in the blood of an infamous child, the stains on the wounded honour of her father; and to punish the crime of a perfidious wretch, who has betrayed his confidence."
They were in a moment on their knees before him; and, as he raised his arm, the trembling duenna exclaimed: "In mercy hold, Signor! Before you inflict on us the punishment you meditate, deign but to listen to me for a moment." "Speak, then, unhappy woman," said Don Luis; "I will retard my vengeance but for the instant you require: speak, I repeat! tell me all the circumstances of my misfortune. But what do I say,—all the circumstances? Alas! I am ignorant but of one; it is, the name of the villain who has dishonoured me." "Signor," replied Marcella, "the cavalier who has just left us is the Count de Belflor." "The Count de Belflor!" repeated Don Luis; "and where did he see my daughter? By what means has he seduced her? On your life, hide nothing from me!" "Signor," replied the governante, "I will relate the whole history to you, with all the sincerity of which I am capable."
She then related, with infinite art, all the conversations she had previously narrated to Leonora, as having passed between herself and the Count; whom she painted in the most flattering colours, as a lover tender, delicate, and sincere, beyond description. As, however, there was no escaping the event in which this heroic love most naturally terminated, she was obliged to avow the truth. But she managed this so adroitly, insisting on the weighty reasons which Belflor had for secrecy in his nuptials, and on the regret he had always expressed for its necessity, that she gradually appeased the fury of her master. This she was not slow to perceive; and, to completely soften the old man, she wound up by a peroration that would have done as much honour to a wig as to a gown:—"Signor," said she, "I have thus told you the simple truth: now punish us if you will, and plunge your sword into your daughter's bosom! But what say I? No! Leonora is innocent; she has but followed the faithful counsels of her to whom you confided the guidance of her conduct. It is my heart against which your sword should be directed; it was I who first introduced the Count to her apartment; it is I who formed those ties which bind him to your daughter. I would not perceive the irregularity of his engagement, although unauthorised by you: I saw in him but a son-in-law, whom I was anxious to secure to you; but the channel through which the favours of our Court might reach you. I forgot all but the happiness of Leonora, and the advancement of your family, in the brilliant alliance of the Count. I have erred: the excess of my zeal has made me forgetful of my duty."
While the subtle Marcella was speaking thus, poor Leonora was not sparing of her tears; and her grief appeared so excessive that the good old man could not resist it. He was affected. His anger was changed into compassion; his sword fell on the ground; and, quitting the air of an irritated parent: "Ah! my daughter," he cried, while tears sprung from his aged eyes, like water from the rock of Horeb, "what a fatal passion is love! Alas! you know not yet all the causes it will bring you for affliction. The shame which a father's presence alone excites, can bring tears to your eyes at this moment; but you foresee not the woes which your lover is, perhaps even now, preparing for the future. And you, imprudent Marcella, what have you done? Into what an abyss has your indiscreet zeal for my family plunged us! I allow that an alliance with a man like Belflor might dazzle you, and it is that which alone excuses and saves you; but, miserable that you are, why were you not more cautious with a lover of his station? The greater his credit and favour at court, the more guarded should you have been against his approaches. Should he not scruple to break his faith with my daughter, how shall I avenge the insult? Shall I implore the power of our laws? A person of his rank can easily shelter himself from its severity. I will suppose that, faithful to his oaths, he would abide by his engagements with my daughter: if the King, as you say, has decreed that he shall marry with another, is it likely that our sovereign will fail to be obeyed?"
"Oh! my father," replied Leonora, "that need not alarm us. The Count has assured us that the King would never do so great a violence to his feelings—" "Of which I am convinced," interrupted the duenna; "for, besides that the monarch loves Belflor too much to exercise so great a tyranny upon his favourite, he is of too noble a character to afflict so grievously the valiant Don Luis de Cespedes, who has devoted to the service of the state the best years of his life."
"Heaven grant," exclaimed the old man, sighing, "that all my fears are vain! I will seek the Count, and demand a full explanation of his conduct: the eyes of a father, alarmed for a daughter's welfare, will pierce his very soul. If I find him what I would hope, and what you would persuade me he is, I will pardon what has passed; but," added he firmly, "if in his discourse I discern the perfidy of his heart, you go, both of you, to bewail in retirement, for the rest of your days, the imprudence of which you have been guilty." As he finished, he took up his sword, and retired to his own room, leaving his daughter and her governante to recover themselves from the fright into which this discovery had so unexpectedly thrown them.