He found himself so perfectly recovered, that when Father Pablos visited him again at night, he entreated permission to quit his chamber on the day following. His request was granted. Matilda appeared no more that evening, except in company with the monks when they came in a body to enquire after the abbot’s health. She seemed fearful of conversing with him in private, and stayed but a few minutes in his room. The friar slept well; but the dreams of the former night were repeated, and his sensations of voluptuousness were yet more keen and exquisite. The same lust-exciting visions floated before his eyes: Matilda, in all the pomp of beauty, warm, tender, and luxurious, clasped him to her bosom, and lavished upon him the most ardent caresses. He returned them as eagerly, and already was on the point of satisfying his desires, when the faithless form disappeared, and left him to all the horrors of shame and disappointment.

The morning dawned. Fatigued, harassed, and exhausted by his provoking dreams, he was not disposed to quit his bed. He excused himself from appearing at matins: it was the first morning in his life that he had ever missed them. He rose late. During the whole of the day he had no opportunity of speaking to Matilda without witnesses. His cell was thronged by the monks, anxious to express their concern at his illness; and he was still occupied in receiving their compliments on his recovery, when the bell summoned them to the refectory.

After dinner the monks separated, and dispersed themselves in various parts of the garden, where the shade of trees or retirement of some grotto presented the most agreeable means of enjoying the siesta. The abbot bent his steps towards the hermitage: a glance of his eye invited Matilda to accompany him.