“Whither have you brought me?” said the monk at length in an hollow trembling voice: “Why am I placed in this melancholy scene? Bear me from it quickly! Carry me to Matilda!”

The fiend replied not, but continued to gaze upon him in silence.

Ambrosio could not sustain his glance; he turned away his eyes, while thus spoke the daemon:

“I have him then in my power! This model of piety! This being without reproach! This mortal who placed his puny virtues on a level with those of angels. He is mine! Irrevocably, eternally mine! companions of my sufferings! Denizens of hell! How grateful will be my present!”

He paused; then addressed himself to the monk⁠—