Lorenzo's departure from Madrid had put a stop to the nightly Serenades: She hoped in vain to hear the usual sound of Guitars beneath her window.

She took up her own, and struck a few chords: But Music that evening had lost its charms for her, and She soon replaced the Instrument in its case.

She seated herself at her embroidery frame, but nothing went right: The silks were missing, the thread snapped every moment, and the needles were so expert at falling that they seemed to be animated.

At length a flake of wax fell from the Taper which stood near her upon a favourite wreath of Violets: This compleatly discomposed her; She threw down her needle, and quitted the frame.

It was decreed that for that night nothing should have the power of amusing her.