Vict.  Ay, and so fair
That I am jealous of all eyes that see thee,
And wish that they were blind.

Prec.  I heed them not;
When thou art present, I see none but thee!

Vict.  There’s nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes
Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.

  Prec.  And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books.

Vict.  Thou comest between me and those books too often! 
I see thy face in everything I see! 
The paintings in the chapel wear thy looks,
The canticles are changed to sarabands,
And with the leaned doctors of the schools
I see thee dance cachuchas.

Prec.  In good sooth,
I dance with learned doctors of the schools
To-morrow morning.

  Vict.  And with whom, I pray?

Prec.  A grave and reverend Cardinal, and his Grace
The Archbishop of Toledo.

Vict.  What mad jest
Is this?

  Prec.  It is no jest; indeed it is not.

  Vict.  Prithee, explain thyself.

Prec.  Why, simply thus. 
Thou knowest the Pope has sent here into Spain
To put a stop to dances on the stage.

  Vict.  I have heard it whispered.

Prec.  Now the Cardinal,
Who for this purpose comes, would fain behold
With his own eyes these dances; and the Archbishop
Has sent for me—­

Vict.  That thou mayst dance before them! 
Now viva la cachucha!  It will breathe
The fire of youth into these gray old men! 
’T will be thy proudest conquest!

Prec.  Saving one. 
And yet I fear these dances will be stopped,
And Preciosa be once more a beggar.

Vict.  The sweetest beggar that e’er asked for alms;
With such beseeching eyes, that when I saw thee
I gave my heart away!

Prec.  Dost thou remember
When first we met?

Vict.  It was at Cordova,
In the cathedral garden.  Thou wast sitting
Under the orange-trees, beside a fountain.

Prec.  ’T was Easter-Sunday.  The full-blossomed trees
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy. 
The priests were singing, and the organ sounded,
And then anon the great cathedral bell. 
It was the elevation of the Host. 
We both of us fell down upon our knees,
Under the orange boughs, and prayed together. 
I never had been happy till that moment.

  Vict.  Thou blessed angel!

Prec.  And when thou wast gone
I felt an acting here.  I did not speak
To any one that day.  But from that day
Bartolome grew hateful unto me.

Vict.  Remember him no more.  Let not his shadow
Come between thee and me.  Sweet Preciosa! 
I loved thee even then, though I was silent!

Prec.  I thought I ne’er should see thy face again. 
Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it.