She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words escaped her lips. Her lovely features assumed an expression of dismay; she stared into vacancy, and stretched out her arms as if to ward off some horrible vision that had arisen before her.
“Speak!” cried he. “Swear that you do not love him!”
Her arms sank helplessly to her side, and a deathly pallor spread over her countenance as she slowly, but calmly and distinctly murmured: “I cannot swear, Matteo! I know it now, I feel it now: I do love him!”
Matteo responded with a cry of fury, and struck Leonora with his clinched fist so forcibly on the shoulder, that she fell to the ground with a cry of pain. He stood over her, cursing her, and vowing that he would have nothing more to do with the faithless woman. With a last imprecation, he then turned and rushed out of the pavilion and down into the garden. All was still in the pavilion. Leonora lay there with closed eyelids, stark and motionless, her countenance of a deathly pallor.
A pale woman glided in through the open door, looked anxiously around, and saw the form of the poor girl extended on the floor. “She has fainted! I must assist her!”
It was Angelica Kaufmann who uttered these words. She had been painting outside on the porch, had heard every word that was spoken in the pavilion, and now came to help and console the poor sufferer.
She knelt down by her side; rested her head on her knees, drew a smelling-bottle from her dress-pocket and held it to the poor girl’s nose.
She opened her eyes and gazed dreamily into the kind, sympathetic countenance of the noble woman who knelt over her.
“It is you, Signora Angelica,” murmured Leonora. “You were near? You heard all?”
“I heard all, Leonora,” said the noble artiste, bending down and kissing her pale lips.