"A foolish and ill-advised desire has robbed me of life. If the news of
my death should reach the ears of Camilla, let her know that I forgive
her, for she was not bound to perform miracles, nor ought I to have
required her to perform them; and since I have been the author of my own
dishonour, there is no reason why-"
So far Anselmo had written, and thus it was plain that at this point,
before he could finish what he had to say, his life came to an end. The
next day his friend sent intelligence of his death to his relatives, who
had already ascertained his misfortune, as well as the convent where
Camilla lay almost on the point of accompanying her husband on that
inevitable journey, not on account of the tidings of his death, but
because of those she received of her lover's departure. Although she saw
herself a widow, it is said she refused either to quit the convent or
take the veil, until, not long afterwards, intelligence reached her that
Lothario had been killed in a battle in which M. de Lautrec had been
recently engaged with the Great Captain Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordova in
the kingdom of Naples, whither her too late repentant lover had repaired.
On learning this Camilla took the veil, and shortly afterwards died, worn
out by grief and melancholy. This was the end of all three, an end that
came of a thoughtless beginning.
"I like this novel," said the curate; "but I cannot persuade myself of
its truth; and if it has been invented, the author's invention is faulty,
for it is impossible to imagine any husband so foolish as to try such a
costly experiment as Anselmo's. If it had been represented as occurring
between a gallant and his mistress it might pass; but between husband and
wife there is something of an impossibility about it. As to the way in
which the story is told, however, I have no fault to find."