battery was directed against the baroness:
it was easy to discover, that her word was law in the castle: her husband paid
her the most absolute submission, and considered her as a superior being. She
was about forty: in her youth she had been a beauty; but her charms had been
upon that large scale which can but ill sustain the shock of years: however, she
still possessed some remains of them. Her understanding was strong and excellent
when not obscured by prejudice, which unluckily was but seldom the case. Her
passions were violent: she spared no pains to gratify them, and pursued with
unremitting vengeance those who opposed themselves to her wishes. The warmest of
friends, the most inveterate of enemies, such was the baroness Lindenberg.
    I laboured incessantly to please her: unluckily I succeeded but too well.
She seemed gratified by my attention, and treated me with a distinction accorded
by her to no one else. One of my daily occupations was reading to her for
several hours: those hours I should much rather have passed with Agnes; but as I
was conscious that complaisance for her aunt would advance our union, I
submitted with a good grace to the penance imposed upon me. Donna Rodolpha's
library was principally composed of old Spanish romances: these were her
favourite studies, and once a day one of these unmerciful volumes was put
regularly into my hands. I read the wearisome adventures of »Perceforest,« »
Tirante the White,« »Palmerin of England,« and »the Knight of the Sun,« till the
book was on the point of falling from my hands through ennui. However, the
increasing pleasure which the baroness seemed to take in my society, encouraged
me to persevere; and latterly she shewed for me a partiality so marked, that
Agnes advised me to seize the first opportunity of declaring our mutual passion
to her aunt.
    One evening I was alone with Donna Rodolpha, in her own apartment. As our
readings generally treated of love, Agnes was never permitted to assist at them.
I was just congratulating myself on having finished »the Loves of Tristan and
the Queen Iseult -«
    »Ah! the unfortunates!« cried the baroness: »How say you, Segnor? Do you
think it possible for man to feel an attachment so disinterested and sincere?«
    »I cannot doubt it,« replied I; »my own heart furnishes me with the
certainty. Ah! Donna Rodolpha, might I but hope for your approbation of my love!
might I but confess the name of my mistress, without incurring your resentment!«
    She