The burst of transport was past: Ambrosio’s lust was satisfied; pleasure fled, and shame usurped her seat in his bosom. Confused and terrified at his weakness, he drew himself from Matilda’s arms. His perjury presented itself before him: he reflected on the scene which had just been acted, and trembled at the consequences of a discovery. He looked forward with horror; his heart was despondent, and became the abode of satiety and disgust. He avoided the eyes of his partner in frailty; a melancholy silence prevailed, during which both seemed busied with disagreeable reflections.

Matilda was the first to break it. She took his hand gently, and pressed it to her burning lips.

“Ambrosio!” she murmured in a soft and trembling voice.

The abbot started at the sound. He turned his eyes upon Matilda’s: they were filled with tears; her cheeks were covered with blushes, and her supplicating looks seemed to solicit his compassion.