Alive alike to the tortures of despair and the illusions of hope, Matilda, now in an agony of desperation, impatiently paced the saloon. Her mind was inflamed by a more violent emotion of hate towards Julia, as she recollected Verezzi’s fond expressions: she determined, however, that were Verezzi not to be hers, he should never be Julia’s. Whilst thus she thought, Zastrozzi entered. The conversation was concerning Verezzi. “How shall I gain his love, Zastrozzi?” exclaimed Matilda. “Oh! I will renew every tender office--I will watch by him day and night, and, by unremitting attentions, I will try to soften his flinty soul. But, alas! it was but now that he started from my arms in horror, and, in accents of desperation, accused me of perfidy--of murder. Could I be perfidious to Verezzi, my heart, which burns with so fervent a fire, declares I could not, and murder----” Matilda paused. “Would thou could say thou wert guilty, or even accessary to _that_,” exclaimed Zastrozzi, his eye gleaming with disappointed ferocity. “Would Julia of Strobazzo’s heart was reeking on my dagger!” “Fervently do I join in that wish, my best Zastrozzi,” returned Matilda: “but, alas! what avail wishes--what avail useless protestations of revenge, whilst Julia yet lives?--yet lives, perhaps, again to obtain Verezzi--to clasp him constant to her bosom--and perhaps--oh, horror! perhaps to----” Stung to madness by the picture which her fancy had portrayed, Matilda paused. Her bosom heaved with throbbing palpitations; and, whilst describing the success of her rival, her warring soul shone apparent from her scintillating eyes. Zastrozzi, meanwhile, stood collected in himself; and, scarcely heeding the violence of Matilda, awaited the issue of her speech. He besought her to calm herself, nor, by those violent emotions, unfit herself for prosecuting the attainment of her fondest hope. “Are you firm?” inquired Zastrozzi. “Yes!” “Are you resolved? Does fear, amid the other passions, shake your soul?” “No, no--this heart knows not to fear--this breast knows not to shrink,” exclaimed Matilda eagerly. “Then be cool--be collected,” returned Zastrozzi, “and thy purpose is effected.” Though little was in these words which might warrant hope, yet Matilda’s susceptible soul, as Zastrozzi spoke, thrilled with anticipated delight.