Night at length came. He repaired to the pavilion, and secreted
himself among the trees that embowered it. Many minutes had not
passed, when he heard a sound of low whispering voices steal from
among the trees, and footsteps approaching down the alley. He stood
almost petrified with terrible sensations, and presently heard some
persons enter the pavilion. The marquis now emerged from his
hiding-place; a faint light issued from the building. He stole to the
window, and beheld within, Maria and the Cavalier de Vincini. Fired
at the sight, he drew his sword, and sprang forward. The sound of his
step alarmed the cavalier, who, on perceiving the marquis, rushed by
him from the pavilion, and disappeared among the woods. The marquis
pursued, but could not overtake him; and he returned to the pavilion
with an intention of plunging his sword in the heart of Maria, when he
discovered her senseless on the ground. Pity now suspended his
vengeance; he paused in agonizing gaze upon her, and returned his
sword into the scabbard.
She revived, but on observing the marquis, screamed and relapsed. He
hastened to the castle for assistance, inventing, to conceal his
disgrace, some pretence for her sudden illness, and she was conveyed
to her chamber. The marquis was now not suffered to doubt her infidelity, but the
passion which her conduct abused, her faithlessness could not subdue;
he still doated with absurd fondness, and even regretted that
uncertainty could no longer flatter him with hope. It seemed as if his
desire of her affection increased with his knowledge of the loss of
it; and the very circumstance which should have roused his aversion,
by a strange perversity of disposition, appeared to heighten his
passion, and to make him think it impossible he could exist without
her. When the first energy of his indignation was subsided, he determined,
therefore, to reprove and to punish, but hereafter to restore her to
favor. In this resolution he went to her apartment, and reprehended her
falsehood in terms of just indignation.
Maria de Vellorno, in whom the late discovery had roused resentment,
instead of awakening penitence; and exasperated pride without exciting
shame--heard the upbraidings of the marquis with impatience, and
replied to them with acrimonious violence.
She boldly asserted her innocence, and instantly invented a story, the
plausibility of which might have deceived a man who had evidence less
certain than his senses to contradict it. She behaved with a
haughtiness the most insolent; and when she perceived that the marquis
was no longer to be misled, and that her violence failed to accomplish
its purpose, she had recourse to tears and supplications. But the
artifice was too glaring to succeed; and the marquis quitted her
apartment in an agony of resentment.