Among the crowd that pressed into the church were two women—­one elderly, the other young—­who had seats offered them by two richly habited cavaliers.  The younger cavalier, Don Lorenzo, discovered such exquisite beauty and sweetness in the maiden to whom he had given his seat—­her name was Antonia—­that when she left the church he was desperately in love with her.

He had promised to see his sister Agnes, a nun in the Convent of St. Clare; so he remained in the church, whither the nuns were presently to come to confess to the Abbot Ambrosio.  As he waited he observed a man wrapped up in a cloak hurriedly place a letter beneath a statue of St. Francis, and then retire.

The nuns entered, and removed their veils out of respect to the saint to whom the building was dedicated.  One of the nuns dropped her rosary beside the statue, and, as she stooped to pick it up, she dexterously removed the letter and placed it in her bosom.  As she did so, the light flashed full in her face.

“Agnes, by Heaven!” cried Lorenzo.

He hastened after the cloaked stranger, and overtook him with drawn sword.  Suddenly the cloaked man turned and exclaimed, “Is it possible?  Lorenzo, have you forgotten Raymond de las Cisternas?”

“You here, marquis?” said the astonished Lorenzo.  “You engaged in a clandestine correspondence with my sister?”

“Her affections have ever been mine, and not the Church’s.  She entered the convent tricked into a belief that I had been false to her; but I have proved to her that it is otherwise.  She had agreed to fly with me, and my uncle, the cardinal, is securing for her a dispensation from her vows.”

Raymond told at length the story of his love, and at the end Lorenzo said, “Raymond, there is no one on whom I would bestow Agnes more willingly than on yourself.  Pursue your design, and I will accompany you.”

Meanwhile, Agnes tremblingly advanced toward the abbot, and in her nervousness let fall the precious letter.  She turned to pick it up.  The abbot claimed and read it; it was the proposal of Agnes’s escape with her lover that very night.

“This letter must to the prioress!” said he sternly.

“Hold father, hold!” cried Agnes, flinging herself at his feet.  “Be merciful!  Do not doom me to destruction!”

“Hence, unworthy wretch!  Where is the prioress?”

The prioress, when she came, gazed upon Agnes with fury.  “Away with her to the convent!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, Raymond, save me, save me!” shrieked the distracted Agnes.  Then, casting upon the abbot a frantic look, “Hear me,” she continued, “man of a hard heart!  Insolent in your yet unshaken virtue, your day of trial will arrive.  Think then upon your cruelty; and despair of pardon!”

II.—­The Abbot’s Infatuation