It is impossible to describe Ricardo’s feelings, when he saw the treasure of his soul thus put up for sale, and found that he had regained it only to lose it more cruelly.  He knew not whether he was asleep or awake, and could not believe his own eyes; for it seemed incredible that they should have so unexpectedly before them her whom he had supposed to have disappeared for ever.  “Do you know her?” he whispered in Mahmoud’s ear.

“No!  I do not,” was the reply.

“Then I must tell you that it is Leonisa.”

“What do you say, Ricardo?” exclaimed Mahmoud.

“I say it is Leonisa.”

“Say no more; fortune is proving your friend, and all is turning out for the best, for she is to remain in my master’s custody.”

“What think you?  Shall I place myself where I may be seen by her?”

“By no means, lest you give her a sudden shock; nor must you let it be known that you have seen her, for that might disconcert the plan I have in view.”

“I will do as you advise,” said Ricardo, turning away his eyes, and carefully avoiding those of Leonisa, which were meanwhile bent upon the ground.  Presently the cadi went up to her, and taking her by the hand, delivered her to Mahmoud, ordering him to take her into the city and give her up to his lady, Halema, with directions to keep her as a slave of the Grand Signor.  Mahmoud obeyed and left Ricardo alone, following with his eyes the star of his soul, until it disappeared behind the walls of Nicosia.  He then went up to the Jew, and asked him where he had bought that Christian slave, or how he had become possessed of her.  The Jew replied that he had bought her in the island of Pantanalea, of some Turks who had been shipwrecked there.  Ricardo would have pursued his inquiries, but the Jew was called away to give the pashas the very same information which Ricardo so much longed to obtain.

During the long walk from the tents to the city Mahmoud conversed with Leonisa in Italian, and asked her whence she came.  She replied that she belonged to the illustrious city of Trapani, and that her parents were noble and wealthy, though as for herself she was utterly unfortunate.  Mahmoud then asked her if she knew a gentleman of birth and fortune in that city, named Ricardo.  On hearing that name a sigh escaped her that seemed to come from the bottom of her heart.  “I know him,” she replied, “to my sorrow.”

“Why to your sorrow?”

“Because it was to his sorrow that he knew me, and for my misfortune.”

“Perhaps,” said Mahmoud, “you may also know in the same city another gentleman of very amiable disposition, the son of very wealthy parents, and himself a person of great spirit, liberality, and discretion.  His name is Cornelio.”

“Him too I know, and of him still more than Ricardo I may say that I know him to my sorrow.  But who are you, sir, who know these gentlemen and inquire of me respecting them?  Doubtless, Heaven, in compassion for the trouble and mischances I have undergone, has sent me to a place where, if they do not cease, at least I may find a person to console me for them.”