Hyp.  Hist!  Martina! 
One word with you.  Bless me I what handsome eyes! 
To-day there have been Gypsies in the village. 
Is it not so?

  Mart.  There have been Gypsies here.

  Hyp.  Yes, and have told your fortune.

  Mart. (embarrassed).  Told my fortune?

Hyp.  Yes, yes; I know they did.  Give me your hand. 
I’ll tell you what they said.  They said,—­they said,
The shepherd boy that loved you was a clown,
And him you should not marry.  Was it not?

  Mart. (surprised).  How know you that?

Hyp.  O, I know more than that,
What a soft, little hand!  And then they said,
A cavalier from court, handsome, and tall
And rich, should come one day to marry you,
And you should be a lady.  Was it not! 
He has arrived, the handsome cavalier.

(Tries to kiss her.  She runs off.  Enter Victorian, with a letter.)

  Vict.  The muleteer has come.

  Hyp.  So soon?

Vict.  I found him
Sitting at supper by the tavern door,
And, from a pitcher that he held aloft
His whole arm’s length, drinking the blood-red wine.

  Hyp.  What news from Court?

  Vict.  He brought this letter only.

(Reads.)

O cursed perfidy!  Why did I let
That lying tongue deceive me!  Preciosa,
Sweet Preciosa! how art thou avenged!

Hyp.  What news is this, that makes thy cheek turn pale,
And thy hand tremble?

Vict.  O, most infamous! 
The Count of Lara is a worthless villain!

  Hyp.  That is no news, forsooth.

Vict.  He strove in vain
To steal from me the jewel of my soul,
The love of Preciosa.  Not succeeding,
He swore to be revenged; and set on foot
A plot to ruin her, which has succeeded. 
She has been hissed and hooted from the stage,
Her reputation stained by slanderous lies
Too foul to speak of; and, once more a beggar,
She roams a wanderer over God’s green earth
Housing with Gypsies!

Hyp.  To renew again
The Age of Gold, and make the shepherd swains
Desperate with love, like Gasper Gil’s Diana. 
Redit et Virgo!

Vict.  Dear Hypolito,
How have I wronged that meek, confiding heart! 
I will go seek for her; and with my tears
Wash out the wrong I’ve done her!

Hyp.  O beware! 
Act not that folly o’er again.

Vict.  Ay, folly,
Delusion, madness, call it what thou wilt,
I will confess my weakness,—­I still love her! 
Still fondly love her!

(Enter the padre Cura.)

Hyp.  Tell us, Padre Cura,
Who are these Gypsies in the neighborhood?

  Padre C. Beltran Cruzado and his crew.