Arch.  ’T is the Alhambra,
Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched. 
But the time wears; and we would see thee dance.

  Prec.  Your Grace shall be obeyed.

(She lays aside her mantilla.  The music of the cachucha is played, and the dance begins.  The archbishop and the Cardinal look on with gravity and an occasional frown; then make signs to each other; and, as the dance continues, become more and more pleased and excited; and at length rise from their seats, throw their caps in the air, and applaud vehemently as the scene closes.)

Scene III. —­ The Prado.  A long avenue of trees leading to the gate of Atocha.  On the right the dome and spires of a convent.  A fountain.  Evening, don Carlos and Hypolito meeting.

  Don C. Hola! good evening, Don Hypolito.

Hyp.  And a good evening to my friend, Don Carlos.  Some lucky star has led my steps this way.  I was in search of you.

  Don.  C. Command me always.

Hyp.  Do you remember, in Quevedo’s Dreams,
The miser, who, upon the Day of Judgment,
Asks if his money-bags would rise?

Don C. I do;
But what of that?

  Hyp.  I am that wretched man.

  Don C. You mean to tell me yours have risen empty?

  Hyp.  And amen! said my Cid the Campeador.

  Don C. Pray, how much need you?

Hyp.  Some half-dozen ounces,
Which, with due interest—­

Don C. (giving his purse).  What, am I a Jew
To put my moneys out at usury? 
Here is my purse.

Hyp.  Thank you.  A pretty purse. 
Made by the hand of some fair Madrilena;
Perhaps a keepsake.

  Don C. No, ’t is at your service.

Hyp.  Thank you again.  Lie there, good Chrysostom,
And with thy golden mouth remind me often,
I am the debtor of my friend.

Don C. But tell me,
Come you to-day from Alcala?

  Hyp.  This moment.

  Don C. And pray, how fares the brave Victorian?

Hyp.  Indifferent well; that is to say, not well. 
A damsel has ensnared him with the glances
Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen catch
A steer of Andalusia with a lazo. 
He is in love.

Don C. And is it faring ill
To be in love?

  Hyp.  In his case very ill.

  Don C. Why so?

Hyp.  For many reasons.  First and foremost,
Because he is in love with an ideal;
A creature of his own imagination;
A child of air; an echo of his heart;
And, like a lily on a river floating,
She floats upon the river of his thoughts!

Don C. A common thing with poets.  But who is
This floating lily?  For, in fine, some woman,
Some living woman,—­not a mere ideal,—­
Must wear the outward semblance of his thought. 
Who is it?  Tell me.