“It is no dream!” she cried; “It is really Ambrosio, who stands before me! It is the man whom Madrid esteems a saint, that I find at this late hour near the couch of my unhappy child! Monster of hypocrisy! I already suspected your designs, but forbore your accusation in pity to human frailty. Silence would now be criminal: the whole city shall be informed of your incontinence. I will unmask you, villain, and convince the church what a viper she cherishes in her bosom.”

Pale and confused the baffled culprit stood trembling before her.