r a
short time, I disappeared.

When I called the next day in my monastic costume, I had a billet-doux
ready in my pocket. The singing commenced: I soon found out that she had
a prepossession, from her selecting a song which in the presence of her
aunt I should have put on one side, but it now suited my purpose that
she should be indulged. When the aunt made her appearance we stopped,
and commenced another: by this little ruse I became a sort of
confidant, and the intimacy which I desired was brought about. When we
had practised two or three songs, Donna Celia, the aunt, left the room:
I then observed that I had seen the young cavalier whom I had mentioned,
and that he appeared to be more infatuated than ever: that he had
requested me as a favour to speak on his behalf, but that I had
threatened to acquaint her aunt if he mentioned the subject; for I
considered that my duty as a confessor in the family would be very
irreconcileable with carrying clandestine love-messages. I acknowledged
that I pitied his condition; for to see the tears that he shed, and
listen to the supplications which he had made, would have softened
almost any body; but that notwithstanding my great regard for him, I
thought it inconsistent with my duty to interfere in such a business: I
added, that he had told me that he had walked before the house yesterday
afternoon, with the hopes of meeting one of the servants, whom he might
bribe to convey a letter; and that I had threatened to acquaint Donna
Celia if he mentioned the subject again. Donna Clara (for such was her
name) appeared very much annoyed at my pretended rigour, but said
nothing. After a little while, I asked her if she had seen him; she
replied in the affirmative without further remarks. Her work-box lay
upon the sofa, upon which she had been seated, and I put the note in it
without being perceived. The lesson was finished, and I repaired to her
aunt's apartments to pay her a visit in the quality of confessor. After
half-an-hour's conversation, I returned through the saloon, where I had
left Donna Clara: she was at her embroidery, and had evidently seen and
read the note, for she coloured up when I entered. I took no notice,
but, satisfied that she had read it, I bade her adieu. In the note, I
had implored her for an answer, and stated that I should be under her
window during the whole night. As soon as it was dark, I dressed myself
as Don Pedro and repaired to the street, striking a few