Leonella.

The latter sentences were written in red ink, to express the blushes of her cheek, while she committed an outrage upon her virgin modesty.

Lorenzo had no sooner perused this note than he set out in search of Don Christoval. Not being able to find him in the course of the day, he proceeded to Donna Elvira’s alone, to Leonella’s infinite disappointment. The domestic by whom he sent up his name, having already declared his lady to be at home, she had no excuse for refusing his visit: yet she consented to receive it with much reluctance. That reluctance was increased by the changes which his approach produced in Antonia’s countenance; nor was it by any means abated when the youth himself appeared. The symmetry of his person, animation of his features, and natural elegance of his manners and address, convinced Elvira that such a guest must be dangerous for her daughter. She resolved to treat him with distant politeness, to decline his services with gratitude for the tender of them, and to make him feel, without offence, that his future visits would be far from acceptable.

On his entrance he found Elvira, who was indisposed, reclining upon a sofa: Antonia sat by her embroidery frame, and Leonella, in a pastoral dress, held Montemayor’s Diana . In spite of her being the mother of Antonia, Lorenzo could not help expecting to find in Elvira Leonella’s true sister, and the daughter of “as honest a painstaking shoemaker, as any in Cordova.” A single glance was sufficient to undeceive him. He beheld a woman whose features, though impaired by time and sorrow, still bore the marks of distinguished beauty: a serious dignity reigned upon her countenance, but was tempered by a grace and sweetness which rendered her truly enchanting. Lorenzo fancied that she must have resembled her daughter in her youth, and readily excused the imprudence of the late Condé de las Cisternas. She desired him to be seated, and immediately resumed her place upon the sofa.