so, and the passage in which Ariosto represents Roger waiting for Alcine
is a beautiful picture painted from nature.

Until midnight I waited without feeling much anxiety; but I heard the
clock strike two, three, four o'clock in the morning without seeing
Bettina; my blood began to boil, and I was soon in a state of furious
rage. It was snowing hard, but I shook from passion more than from cold.
One hour before day-break, unable to master any longer my impatience, I
made up my mind to go downstairs with bare feet, so as not to wake the
dog, and to place myself at the bottom of the stairs within a yard of
Bettina's door, which ought to have been opened if she had gone out of
her room. I reached the door; it was closed, and as it could be locked
only from inside I imagined that Bettina had fallen asleep. I was on the
point of knocking at the door, but was prevented by fear of rousing the
dog, as from that door to that of her closet there was a distance of
three or four yards. Overwhelmed with grief, and unable to take a
decision, I sat down on the last step of the stairs; but at day-break,
chilled, benumbed, shivering with cold, afraid that the servant would see
me and would think I was mad, I determined to go back to my room. I
arise, but at that very moment I hear some noise in Bettina's room.
Certain that I am going to see her, and hope lending me new strength, I
draw nearer to the door. It opens; but instead of Bettina coming out I
see Cordiani, who gives me such a furious kick in the stomach that I am
thrown at a distance deep in the snow. Without stopping a single instant
Cordiani is off, and locks himself up in the room which he shared with
the brothers Feltrini.

I pick myself up quickly with the intention of taking my revenge upon
Bettina, whom nothing could have saved from the effects of my rage at
that moment. But I find her door locked; I kick vigorously against it,
the dog starts a loud barking, and I make a hurried retreat to my room,
in which I lock myself up, throwing myself in bed to compose and heal up
my mind and body, for I was half dead.

Deceived, humbled, ill-treated, an object of contempt to the happy and
triumphant Cordiani, I spent three hours ruminating the darkest schemes
of revenge. To poison them both seemed to me but a trifle in that
terrible moment of bitter misery. This project gave way to another as
extravagant, as cowardly-namely, to go at once to her brother and
disclose everything t