Don Luis, (continued Asmodeus), on returning to his apartment, dressed himself hastily, and, while it was still early, repaired to the Count; who, not suspecting a discovery, was much surprised by this visit. On the old man's entrance, however, Belflor ran to meet him, and, embracing him cordially, exclaimed, "Ah Signor Don Luis; I am delighted to see you. To what do I owe this happiness? Am I so fortunate as to have an opportunity of serving you?" "Signor," replied Don Luis sternly, "I would speak with you alone."
Belflor desired his attendants to withdraw; and as soon as they were seated, "Signor," said Cespedes, "I come to ask of you an explanation of circumstances in which my honour and happiness are deeply interested. I saw you this morning leaving the apartment of my daughter. She has disguised nothing from me: she informed that——" "She has told you that I love her," interrupted the Count, to avoid hearing what he knew could not be very agreeable; "but she can but have feebly described all that I feel for her. I am enchanted with her; she is an adorable creature: beauty, wit, virtue,—nothing is wanting to perfect her charms. I am told you have a son, too, who is finishing his studies at Alcala: does he resemble his sister? If he have her beauty, and have at all inherited the noble bearing of his father, he must be a perfect cavalier. I die with anxiety to see him; and I assure you that I shall be proud to advance his fortunes."
"I am obliged to you for so kind an offer," gravely replied Don Luis; "but to return to the subject of——" "He must enter the service at once," again interrupted the Count: "I charge myself with the care of his interests: he shall not grow old among the crowd of subalterns; on that you may depend." "Answer me, Count!" replied the old man vehemently, "and cease these interruptions. Do you intend, or not, to fulfil the promise——?" "Yes, certainly," interrupted Belflor for the third time; "I engage faithfully to support your son with all the interest I possess: rely on me; I am a man of my word." "This is too much, Count," cried Cespedes, rising: "after having seduced my daughter, you dare thus to insult me! But I also am a noble; and the injury you have done me shall not remain unpunished." In finishing these words, he left the Count, his heart swelling with anger, and his mind tormented with a thousand projects of revenge.
On arriving at home, still greatly agitated, he immediately went to Leonora's apartment, where he found her with Marcella. "It was not without reason," said he, addressing them, "that I was suspicious of the Count: he is a traitor; but I will avenge myself. For you, you shall at once hide your shame within a convent: both of you, prepare to leave this house to-morrow; and thank Heaven that my wrath contents itself with so moderate a punishment." He then left them, to shut himself in his cabinet, that he might maturely reflect on the conduct it would be proper to observe in so delicate a conjuncture.
How poignant was the grief of Leonora, when thus informed of Belflor's perfidy! She remained for some time motionless; a death-like paleness overspread her lovely features; life itself seemed about to abandon her, and she fell senseless into the arms of her governante. The alarmed duenna at first thought that the victim of her intrigues was really dead; but, on perceiving that she still breathed, used every effort to restore her to consciousness, and at last succeeded. Existence, however, had no longer charms for Leonora; and when, somewhat recovered, she unclosed her eyelids, and perceived the officious governante busy about her person, "Cruel Marcella!" she exclaimed, sighing deeply; "wherefore have you drawn me from the happy state in which I was? Then, I felt not the horror of my destiny. Why did you not let me perish? You, who know so well that life henceforth must be but one long misery, why have you sought to preserve it?"
The duenna endeavoured to console her, but her words only added to Leonora's sufferings. "It is in vain you would comfort me," she cried, "I will not hear you: strive not to combat my despair. Rather seek to add to its profundity; you, who have plunged me into the frightful gulph in which all my hopes are swallowed:—you it was who assured me of the Count's sincerity; but for you I had never yielded to my passion for him; I should have insensibly triumphed over it, or at least, he would never have had cause to boast of my weakness. But no! I will not," she continued, "attribute to you my misfortunes; it is myself alone I should accuse. I ought not to have followed your advice, in accepting the faith of a man, without the sanction of my father. However flattering to me were the attentions of Count de Belflor, I should have despised them, rather than have endeavoured to secure them at the price of my honour: I should have mistrusted him, you! Marcella, and myself. For my folly in listening to his perfidious oaths, for the affliction I have caused to the unhappy Don Luis, and for the dishonour I have brought upon my family, I detest myself; and, far from fearing the state of seclusion with which I am menaced, I would willingly conceal my guilt and shame in the most frightful dungeon in the world."
While her grief thus vented itself in exclamations, and tears streamed from her eyes, she frantically tore her clothes, and revenged the injustice of her lover on the beautiful locks which fell around her neck. The duenna, also, to appear in keeping with her mistress's grief, was not sparing of grimaces; she managed to squeeze out some convenient tears, and directed a thousand imprecations against mankind in general, and against Belflor in particular. "Is it possible," she cried, "that the Count, who had all the semblance of amiability and rectitude, should be so great a villain as to have deceived us both? I cannot get over my surprise, or rather, I cannot even yet persuade myself that he is so."
"Indeed," said Leonora, "when I picture him myself at my feet, what maiden could but have confided to so much tenderness,—to his oaths, which he so daringly called on Heaven to witness,—to his boundless transports, which seemed so sincere? His eyes to me discovered a love far more intense than his lips could express; and the very sight of me appeared to charm him:—no, he did not deceive me; I cannot believe it. My father has not spoken to him with sufficient caution; they have quarrelled, and the Count has replied to his reproaches less as the lover than the lord. Still, may I not deceive myself? I will, however, end this horrible suspense. I will write to Belflor,—tell him I expect him here this night: I am resolved he comes to reassure my troubled heart, or to confirm, himself, his treachery."