'Listen to me, Montoni;' said she, gazing into his eyes with an expression of deep fondness—'listen to me, and I will speak calmly if I can, though my heart is beating in wild tumult. Call me unwomanly, bold, wanton if you will, for making this declaration—but I love you!—God only knows how ardently, how passionately. The first moment I saw you, your image impressed itself indelibly upon my heart; in person, you were my beau ideal of manhood—and in mind I found you all that I could wish. I have sought to make you my lover—for my husband is old and impotent, and my passions are strong. Look at me, Montoni; am I ugly or repulsive? Nay, the world calls me beautiful, yet I seek to be beautiful only in your eyes, my beloved. Why, then, have you despised my advances, disregarded my mute invitations, and left me to pine with disappointment and with hope deferred? Why will you not take me in your arms, cover me with kisses, and breathe into my ear the melody of your whispered love?'
The lady paused, and the Italian gazed at her with admiration. Ah, how beautiful she looked! and yet how like a fiend in the shape of a lovely woman, tempting a man to ruin!
'Lady,' said Montoni, as a shade of sadness passed over his fine features—'you have mentioned your husband, and the recollection that you have a husband forbids that I should take advantage of your preference for me. God forbid that I should be the cause of a wife's infidelity! Pardon me, lady—you are very beautiful; the Almighty never created so fair a sanctuary to become the dwelling place of sin; be advised, therefore, to suppress this guilty passion, and remain faithful to your husband, who, old though he be, has claims upon your constancy.'
'I long for the declarations of a lover, not the reasonings of a philosopher,' cried Julia passionately.—'Thou man of ice, nothing can melt you?'
'Remember your duty to your husband,' said Montoni, gravely, as he arose to depart. 'I will see you to-morrow evening—adieu.'
He left her to her reflections.—Wild, tumultuous thoughts arose in her mind; and from the chaos of her bewildered brain, came a Hideous Whisper, prompting her to a bloody crime.
She thought of her husband as an obstacle to her happiness with Montoni; and she began to hate the old man with the malignity of a fiend.
'Curses on the old dotard!' she cried, in a paroxysm of rage—'were it not for him, I might revel in the arms of my handsome Italian, whose unaccountable scruples will not permit him to enjoy the bliss of love with me, while I have a husband.—Were that husband DEAD—'
Then, like a Mighty Shadow, came that dark thought over her soul. Myriads of beautiful demons, all bearing the semblance of Montoni, seemed to gather around her, and urge her to perpetrate a deed of—murder!
But then a fair vision spread itself before her wandering fancy. There was her girlhood's home—far, far away in a green, flowery spot, where she had dwelt ere her life had been cast amid the follies and vices of cities. Then she thought of her mother—that gentle mother, whose heart she had broken, and who was sleeping in the old church-yard of her native village.—A tear dim'd her brilliant eye as these better feelings of her nature gained a temporary ascendancy: but she dashed her tear away, and suppressed the emotions of her heart, when the image of the fascinating Italian arose before her.