sensitive modesty which made the young Mancini in sort an exception
among her sex. Juana possessed in an equal degree the most attaching
virtues and the most passionate impulses; she had needed the modesty
and sanctity of this monotonous life to calm and cool the tumultuous
blood of the Maranas which bounded in her heart, the desires of which
her adopted mother told her were an instigation of the devil.

A faint ray of light traced along the sill of the secret door guided
Montefiore to the place; he scratched the panel softly and Juana
opened to him. Montefiore entered, palpitating, but he recognized in
the expression of the girl's face complete ignorance of her peril, a
sort of naive curiosity, and an innocent admiration. He stopped short,
arrested for a moment by the sacredness of the picture which met his
eyes.

He saw before him a tapestry on the walls with a gray ground sprinkled
with violets, a little coffer of ebony, an antique mirror, an immense
and very old arm chair also in ebony and covered with tapestry, a
table with twisted legs, a pretty carpet on the floor, near the table
a single chair; and that was all. On the table, however, were flowers
and embroidery; in a recess at the farther end of the room was the
narrow little bed where Juana dreamed. Above the bed were three
pictures; and near the pillow a crucifix, with a holy water basin and
a prayer, printed in letters of gold and framed. Flowers exhaled their
perfume faintly; the candles cast a tender light; all was calm and
pure and sacred. The dreamy thoughts of Juana, but above all Juana
herself, had communicated to all things her own peculiar charm; her
soul appeared to shine there, like the pearl in its matrix. Juana,
dressed in white, beautiful with naught but her own beauty, laying
down her rosary to answer love, might have inspired respect, even in a