It is true she
found herself a captive, but no advantage appeared to be taken of her
helplessness. She soothed herself with the idea that a little while
would suffice to convince Don Ambrosio of the fallacy of his hopes,
and that he would be induced to restore her to her home. Her
transports of terror and affliction, therefore, subsided, in a few
days, into a passive, yet anxious melancholy, with which she awaited
the hoped-for event.
In the meanwhile, all those artifices were employed that are
calculated to charm the senses, ensnare the feelings, and dissolve the
heart into tenderness. Don Ambrosio was a master of the subtle arts of
seduction. His very mansion breathed an enervating atmosphere of
languor and delight. It was here, amidst twilight saloons and dreamy
chambers, buried among groves of orange and myrtle, that he shut
himself up at times from the prying world, and gave free scope to the
gratification of his pleasures.
The apartments were furnished in the most sumptuous and voluptuous
manner; the silken couches swelled to the touch, and sunk in downy
softness beneath the slightest pressure. The paintings and statues,
all told some classic tale of love, managed, however, with an
insidious delicacy; which, while it banished the grossness that might
disgust, was the more calculated to excite the imagination.
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