e he had lodged there.
Dorothea said she fully believed it, and that he need not be uneasy, for
all would go well and turn out as he wished. All therefore being
appeased, the curate was anxious to go on with the novel, as he saw there
was but little more left to read. Dorothea and the others begged him to
finish it, and he, as he was willing to please them, and enjoyed reading
it himself, continued the tale in these words:

The result was, that from the confidence Anselmo felt in Camilla's
virtue, he lived happy and free from anxiety, and Camilla purposely
looked coldly on Lothario, that Anselmo might suppose her feelings
towards him to be the opposite of what they were; and the better to
support the position, Lothario begged to be excused from coming to the
house, as the displeasure with which Camilla regarded his presence was
plain to be seen. But the befooled Anselmo said he would on no account
allow such a thing, and so in a thousand ways he became the author of his
own dishonour, while he believed he was insuring his happiness. Meanwhile
the satisfaction with which Leonela saw herself empowered to carry on her
amour reached such a height that, regardless of everything else, she
followed her inclinations unrestrainedly, feeling confident that her
mistress would screen her, and even show her how to manage it safely. At
last one night Anselmo heard footsteps in Leonela's room, and on trying
to enter to see who it was, he found that the door was held against him,
which made him all the more determined to open it; and exerting his
strength he forced it open, and entered the room in time to see a man
leaping through the window into the street. He ran quickly to seize him
or discover who he was, but he was unable to effect either purpose, for
Leonela flung her arms round him crying, "Be calm, senor; do not give way
to passion or follow him who has escaped from this; he belongs to me, and
in fact he is my husband."

Anselmo would not believe it, but blind with rage drew a dagger and
threatened to stab Leonela, bidding her tell the truth or he would kill
her. She, in her fear, not knowing what she was saying, exclaimed, "Do
not kill me, senor, for I can tell you things more important than any you
can imagine."

"Tell me then at once or thou diest," said Anselmo.

"It would be impossible for me now," said Leonela, "I am so agitated:
leave me till to-morrow, and then you shall hear from me what will fill
you with astonish