While her grief thus vented itself in exclamations, and tears streamed from her eyes, she frantically tore her clothes, and revenged the injustice of her lover on the beautiful locks which fell around her neck. The duenna, also, to appear in keeping with her mistress's grief, was not sparing of grimaces; she managed to squeeze out some convenient tears, and directed a thousand imprecations against mankind in general, and against Belflor in particular. "Is it possible," she cried, "that the Count, who had all the semblance of amiability and rectitude, should be so great a villain as to have deceived us both? I cannot get over my surprise, or rather, I cannot even yet persuade myself that he is so." "Indeed," said Leonora, "when I picture him myself at my feet, what maiden could but have confided to so much tenderness,--to his oaths, which he so daringly called on Heaven to witness,--to his boundless transports, which seemed so sincere? His eyes to me discovered a love far more intense than his lips could express; and the very sight of me appeared to charm him:--no, he did not deceive me; I cannot believe it. My father has not spoken to him with sufficient caution; they have quarrelled, and the Count has replied to his reproaches less as the lover than the lord. Still, may I not deceive myself? I will, however, end this horrible suspense. I will write to Belflor,--tell him I expect him here this night: I am resolved he comes to reassure my troubled heart, or to confirm, himself, his treachery." Marcella loudly applauded this resolution; she even conceived a hope that the Count, all ambitious as he was, might yet be affected by the tears of his Leonora, which could not fail at this interview, and that he might determine on espousing her in truth. Meanwhile, Belflor, relieved of the presence of Don Luis, was revolving in his mind the probable consequences of the reception he had given to the good old man. He felt certain that all the Cespedes, enraged at the injury he had done their family, would unite to avenge it: this, however, gave him but little trouble; the possible loss of Leonora occasioned him far greater anxiety. She would, he imagined, at once be placed in a convent, or, at least, that she would be carefully guarded from his sight; and that she was consequently lost to him for ever. This thought afflicted him; and he was occupied in devising some means to prevent so great a misfortune, when his valet entered the apartment, and presented a letter which Marcella had placed in his hands. It was from Leonora, and ran as follows:-- "MY STILL DEAREST BELFLOR,