The monk started, and raised his melancholy eyes. Matilda stood before him. She had quitted her religious habit. She now wore a female dress, at once elegant and splendid: a profusion of diamonds blazed upon her robes, and her hair was confined by a coronet of roses. In her right hand she held a small book: a lively expression of pleasure beamed upon her countenance; but still it was mingled with a wild imperious majesty which inspired the monk with awe, and repressed in some measure his transports at seeing her.

“You here, Matilda?” he at length exclaimed; “How have you gained entrance? Where are your chains? What means this magnificence, and the joy which sparkles in your eyes? Have our judges relented? Is there a chance of my escaping? Answer me for pity, and tell me, what I have to hope, or fear.”

“Ambrosio!” she replied with an air of commanding dignity; “I have baffled the inquisition’s fury. I am free: a few moments will place kingdoms between these dungeons and me. Yet I purchase my liberty at a dear, at a dreadful price! Dare you pay the same, Ambrosio? Dare you spring without fear over the bounds which separate men from angels?⁠—You are silent.⁠—You look upon me with eyes of suspicion and alarm⁠—I read your thoughts and confess their justice. Yes, Ambrosio; I have sacrificed all for life and liberty. I am no longer a candidate for heaven! I have renounced God’s service, and am enlisted beneath the banners of his foes. The deed is past recall: yet were it in my power to go back, I would not. Oh! my friend, to expire in such torments! To die amidst curses and execrations! To bear the insults of an exasperated mob! To be exposed to all the mortifications of shame and infamy! Who can reflect without horror on such a doom? Let me then exult in my exchange. I have sold distant and uncertain happiness for present and secure: I have preserved a life which otherwise I had lost in torture; and I have obtained the power of procuring every bliss which can make that life delicious!