_Pri._ Idle remonstrances! what! shall I have plunged into guilt, and reap no fruits from it but the danger? abbess, Josepha must be mine: remember my power, and obey me! _Ve._ You have been obeyed; your victim is even now conducting hither; the banquet-- the lights-- the choral harmony-- every thing is prepared, that can seduce her senses; but all these temptations she has already resisted-- she will resist them still: then spare me the odious-- the unavailing office-- _Pri._ Perform it well, and it will not be unavailing. For twelve long months cut off from all society-- deprived of every joy, of every comfort, even deprived of light-- then, when suddenly the radience of a thousand torches blazes upon her wondering eye, when music swells upon her ear and, still more melting still more melodious, when the voice of affection speaks touchingly to her heart; nay, if she then prefers her gloomy cell to liberty and pleasure, Josepha’s virtue must be more than human. _Ve._ But should it prove so-- oh! then at least forbear to persecute the unfortunate! let her swear never to divulge our secrets-- let some well imagined tale account for her reported death, and-- _Pri._ How? and dare you, the creature of my will, whose life depends but upon my breath-- _Ve._ While you speak, forget not also that my fate involves your own; I too can divulge-- _Pri._ Speak but such another threatening word, and the whole measure of your offences shall be made public throughout Messina-- my mind is resolved; my resolutions are taken: I can dare every thing; but you-- weak, trembling, doubting woman-- dare you die! _Ve._ O! no, no, no! you know but too well, I dare not. _Pri._ No more, then, but obey me. Tonight be it your care to fascinate Josepha’s senses and inflame her heart. Tomorrow I will once more present myself before her and prove, whether virtue and Venoni can counterbalance at once the allurements of present pleasure, and the apprehension of future pain. You have heard my will; obey it! should Josepha escape, I swear, that my vengeance shall drag you to the scaffold, even though I ascend it with you myself, (_to the friar_) Lead to the monastery. [Exeunt. _Ve._ I struggle in vain to escape; the snares of guilt are wound too closely round me. Hark! she comes! tis Josepha! I heard the plaintive murmur of that voice, so sweet, so tender, so touching! I dare not meet her yet-- oh! Josepha, gladly would I share thy gloomy dungeon, could I but share with it thy uncorrupted heart. [Exeunt. A nun enters with a lamp followed by sister _Lucia_, who conducts _Josepha_ blind-folded.