She looked alternately at
Montoni, at his guests and on the surrounding scene; and then,
remembering her dear native province, her pleasant home and the
simplicity and goodness of the friends, whom she had lost, grief and
surprise again occupied her mind. When her thoughts could return from these considerations, she fancied
she observed an air of authority towards his guests, such as she had
never before seen him assume, though he had always been distinguished
by a haughty carriage; there was something also in the manners of the
strangers, that seemed perfectly, though not servilely, to acknowledge
his superiority. During dinner, the conversation was chiefly on war and politics. They
talked with energy of the state of Venice, its dangers, the character
of the reigning Doge and of the chief senators; and then spoke of the
state of Rome. When the repast was over, they rose, and, each filling
his goblet with wine from the gilded ewer, that stood beside him, drank
“Success to our exploits!” Montoni was lifting his goblet to his lips
to drink this toast, when suddenly the wine hissed, rose to the brim,
and, as he held the glass from him, it burst into a thousand pieces. To him, who constantly used that sort of Venice glass, which had the
quality of breaking, upon receiving poisoned liquor, a suspicion, that
some of his guests had endeavoured to betray him, instantly occurred,
and he ordered all the gates to be closed, drew his sword, and, looking
round on them, who stood in silent amazement, exclaimed, “Here is a
traitor among us; let those, that are innocent, assist in discovering
the guilty.”

Indignation flashed from the eyes of the cavaliers, who all drew their
swords; and Madame Montoni, terrified at what might ensue, was
hastening from the hall, when her husband commanded her to stay; but
his further words could not now be distinguished, for the voice of
every person rose together. His order, that all the servants should
appear, was at length obeyed, and they declared their ignorance of any
deceit—a protestation which could not be believed; for it was evident,
that, as Montoni’s liquor, and his only, had been poisoned, a
deliberate design had been formed against his life, which could not
have been carried so far towards its accomplishment, without the
connivance of the servant, who had the care of the wine ewers. This man, with another, whose face betrayed either the consciousness of
guilt, or the fear of punishment, Montoni ordered to be chained
instantly, and confined in a strong room, which had formerly been used
as a prison. Thither, likewise, he would have sent all his guests, had
he not foreseen the consequence of so bold and unjustifiable a
proceeding. As to those, therefore, he contented himself with swearing,
that no man should pass the gates, till this extraordinary affair had
been investigated, and then sternly bade his wife retire to her
apartment, whither he suffered Emily to attend her. In about half an hour, he followed to the dressing-room; and Emily
observed, with horror, his dark countenance and quivering lip, and
heard him denounce vengeance on her aunt. “It will avail you nothing,” said he to his wife, “to deny the fact; I
have proof of your guilt. Your only chance of mercy rests on a full
confession;—there is nothing to hope from sullenness, or falsehood;
your accomplice has confessed all.”

Emily’s fainting spirits were roused by astonishment, as she heard her
aunt accused of a crime so atrocious, and she could not, for a moment,
admit the possibility of her guilt. Meanwhile Madame Montoni’s
agitation did not permit her to reply; alternately her complexion
varied from livid paleness to a crimson flush; and she trembled,—but,
whether with fear, or with indignation, it were difficult to decide. “Spare your words,” said Montoni, seeing her about to speak, “your
countenance makes full confession of your crime.—You shall be instantly
removed to the east turret.”

“This accusation,” said Madame Montoni, speaking with difficulty, “is
used only as an excuse for your cruelty; I disdain to reply to it. You
do not believe me guilty.”

“Signor!” said Emily solemnly, “this dreadful charge, I would answer
with my life, is false. Nay, Signor,” she added, observing the severity
of his countenance, “this is no moment for restraint, on my part; I do
not scruple to tell you, that you are deceived—most wickedly deceived,
by the suggestion of some person, who aims at the ruin of my aunt:—it
is impossible, that you could yourself have imagined a crime so
hideous.”

Montoni, his lips trembling more than before, replied only, “If you
value your own safety,” addressing Emily, “you will be silent. I shall
know how to interpret your remonstrances, should you persevere in
them.”

Emily raised her eyes calmly to heaven. “Here is, indeed, then, nothing
to hope!” said she. “Peace!” cried Montoni, “or you shall find there is something to fear.”

He turned to his wife, who had now recovered her spirits, and who
vehemently and wildly remonstrated upon this mysterious suspicion: but
Montoni’s rage heightened with her indignation, and Emily, dreading the
event of it, threw herself between them, and clasped his knees in
silence, looking up in his face with an expression, that might have
softened the heart of a fiend. Whether his was hardened by a conviction
of Madame Montoni’s guilt, or that a bare suspicion of it made him
eager to exercise vengeance, he was totally and alike insensible to the
distress of his wife, and to the pleading looks of Emily, whom he made
no attempt to raise, but was vehemently menacing both, when he was
called out of the room by some person at the door. As he shut the door,
Emily heard him turn the lock and take out the key; so that Madame
Montoni and herself were now prisoners; and she saw that his designs
became more and more terrible. Her endeavours to explain his motives
for this circumstance were almost as ineffectual as those to sooth the
distress of her aunt, whose innocence she could not doubt; but she, at
length, accounted for Montoni’s readiness to suspect his wife by his
own consciousness of cruelty towards her, and for the sudden violence
of his present conduct against both, before even his suspicions could
be completely formed, by his general eagerness to effect suddenly
whatever he was led to desire and his carelessness of justice, or
humanity, in accomplishing it. Madame Montoni, after some time, again looked round, in search of a
possibility of escape from the castle, and conversed with Emily on the
subject, who was now willing to encounter any hazard, though she
forbore to encourage a hope in her aunt, which she herself did not
admit. How strongly the edifice was secured, and how vigilantly
guarded, she knew too well; and trembled to commit their safety to the
caprice of the servant, whose assistance they must solicit.