Bart.  There was no one to rob, save a party of students from Segovia, who looked as if they would rob us; and a jolly little friar, who had nothing in his pockets but a missal and a loaf of bread.

  Cruz.  Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid?

  Bart.  First tell me what keeps thee here?

  Cruz.  Preciosa.

Bart.  And she brings me back.  Hast thou forgotten thy promise?

Cruz.  The two years are not passed yet.  Wait patiently.  The girl shall be thine.

  Bart.  I hear she has a Busne lover.

  Cruz.  That is nothing.

Bart.  I do not like it.  I hate him,—­the son of a Busne harlot.  He goes in and out, and speaks with her alone, and I must stand aside, and wait his pleasure.

Cruz.  Be patient, I say.  Thou shalt have thy revenge.  When the time comes, thou shalt waylay him.

  Bart.  Meanwhile, show me her house.

Cruz.  Come this way.  But thou wilt not find her.  She dances at the play to-night.

  Bart.  No matter.  Show me the house.
                    [Exeunt.

Scene VIII. —­ The Theatre.  The orchestra plays the cachucha.  Sound of castanets behind the scenes.  The curtain rises, and discovers Preciosa in the attitude of commencing the dance.  The cachucha.  Tumult; hisses; cries of “Brava!” and “Afuera!” She falters and pauses.  The music stops.  General confusion.  Preciosa faints.

Scene IX. —­ The count of Lara’s chambers.  Lara and his friends at supper.

Lara.  So, Caballeros, once more many thanks!  You have stood by me bravely in this matter.  Pray fill your glasses.

Don J. Did you mark, Don Luis,
How pale she looked, when first the noise began,
And then stood still, with her large eyes dilated! 
Her nostrils spread! her lips apart!  Her bosom
Tumultuous as the sea!

  Don L. I pitied her.

Lara.  Her pride is humbled; and this very night
I mean to visit her.

  Don J. Will you serenade her?

  Lara.  No music! no more music!

Don L. Why not music? 
It softens many hearts.

Lara.  Not in the humor
She now is in.  Music would madden her.

  Don J. Try golden cymbals.

Don L. Yes, try Don Dinero;
A mighty wooer is your Don Dinero.

Lara.  To tell the truth, then, I have bribed her maid. 
But, Caballeros, you dislike this wine. 
A bumper and away; for the night wears. 
A health to Preciosa.

(They rise and drink.)

  All.  Preciosa.

Lara. (holding up his glass). 
Thou bright and flaming minister of Love! 
Thou wonderful magician! who hast stolen
My secret from me, and mid sighs of passion
Caught from my lips, with red and fiery tongue,
Her precious name!  O nevermore henceforth
Shall mortal lips press thine; and nevermore
A mortal name be whispered in thine ear. 
Go! keep my secret!