How much do we sometimes deceive ourselves, my dear Aza! when we think that prudence guides our actions. I have a long time refused the urgent request which Deterville sent me, that I would grant him a moment's conversation. Alas! I shunned my own happiness. At length, not through complaisance, but because I was weary of continual importunity, I went to the parlour. At sight of the great alteration in Deterville, which makes him scarcely to be known, I was in the utmost confusion, and immediately repenting the step I had taken, I stood trembling, expecting the reproaches which I thought he had a right to make me; far from divining what was really true, that he was going to fill my soul with the utmost pleasure.

Pardon, Zilia, said he, the violence I do you; I should not have forced you to see me, if I had not brought you as much joy as you inflict torments on me. Is the sight of me for a moment too much for you to bear, in return for the sacrifice I am going to make you? Then, not waiting for an answer; Here, says he, is a letter from that relation you was talking of. This will inform you of Aza's situation, and in so doing, prove in a greater degree than all the oaths I can make, the excess of my passion. He then read the letter aloud to me. Oh! my dear Aza, how could I hear it and not die with joy? It informed me that your life is preserved; and not only your life, but your liberty; and that you now live unmolested in the Spanish court! What an unhoped-for joy!

This pleasing letter was written by a man who knows you, who sees you, who converses with you. Perhaps your eyes were for a moment fixed upon this happy paper. How could I think that, and remove mine from it? It was with the utmost difficulty I suppressed the exclamations of joy that were ready to escape me, and tears of love overflowed my countenance.