“Unfortunate men!” cried the innkeeper, seeing that the swords began to move, that the eyes flashed, and that the rivals began to approach each other. “They are going to kill each other, and they do not even know that they are in love with the same woman.” “There is some reason in that.” said the chubby-cheeked, “for it is possible that we are deceived by appearances.” “Vive Dios!” exclaimed the black-eyed. “You are getting scared already and trying to find an excuse, but you won’t succeed, for only one of us will be alive after to-night.” “What I feel is not fear, but common sense.” “Is it possible that there can be a mistake?” “Yes.” “Weren’t you watching in front of the licenciado Barquero’s house?” “And I, too,” said Señor Alonso. “Then since she lives there—” “Thank God! you are not going to kill each other then,” interrupted the landlord, whose face was covered with cold sweat, “you are not going to,—no.” “Why?” “Doña Elena—But quiet down now. Put your swords in their scabbards and sit down and listen to me.” It was all that was needed to let the first burst of passion subside without further consequences. “Explain to us,” said the fat one, sitting down. “In the first place, it is impossible that such hidalgos as you should kill each other for such women, who, it is said, owe their beauty to the diabolical arts of their mother.” “Take care, Master Crispin! If you let your tongue run away like that⸺” “I repeat that it is said so. But leaving that aside,—though it ought not to be, for it is important,—there is still the fact that since there are three daughters—” “Three!” “Didn’t you know that?” “Fuego de Satanas!” “It is quite possible that each of you may have fallen in love with a different one. Then in that case you are not rivals, but you ought to be the best of friends.” “Certainly.” “You, Señor Alonso, came here a month ago, and yet you do not know the ground you are treading on.” “I have been here for the last fifteen days.” “And I twelve.” “Bah! The subject is changing its aspect.” “How are we going to find out whether it is the same one or not who has set all our hearts on fire?” “They are not like each other. Doña Sol has a dark complexion. Her eyes are as black as jet—” “That is the one I am in love with. She must have a soul of fire,” said Señor Alonso. “Still I am not satisfied,” said the youngest. “Nor I either,” echoed the chubby-cheeked. “The second is Doña Luz.” “White?” “Yes.” “Thunder!” “Oh!” “Chestnut hair.” “You mean red.” “No.” “And gray eyes.” “Are you sure they are not blue?” “Doña Estrella’s are blue. She is the youngest.” “I am so happy!” “What luck!” “Light of my soul!” “Star of my existence!” “Sun, whose rays set my heart on fire!” “Let’s have more wine, Master Crispin.” “But I don’t want Arganda wine.” “Let it come from Jerez.”