DON GONZALO. Yes. DOÑA LAURA [_aside_]. Strange are the ways of Providence! This man is my early lover. DON GONZALO. The gallant lover, if we refer to the same affair-- DOÑA LAURA. To the duel? DON GONZALO. Precisely, to the duel. The gallant lover was--my cousin, of whom I was very fond. DOÑA LAURA. Oh, yes, a cousin. My friend told me in one of her letters the story of that love affair, truly romantic. He, your cousin, passed by on horseback every morning by the rose path under her window, and tossed up to her balcony a bouquet of flowers which she caught. DON GONZALO. And later in the afternoon, the gallant horseman would return by the same path, and catch the bouquet of flowers she would toss him. Was it not so? DOÑA LAURA. Yes. They wanted to marry her to a merchant whom she did not fancy. DON GONZALO. And one night, when my cousin watched under her window to hear her sing, this new lover presented himself unexpectedly. DOÑA LAURA. And insulted your cousin. DON GONZALO. There was a quarrel. DOÑA LAURA. And later a duel. DON GONZALO. Yes, at sunrise, on the beach, and the merchant was badly wounded. My cousin had to conceal himself for a few days and later to fly. DOÑA LAURA. You seem to know the story perfectly. DON GONZALO. And so do you. DOÑA LAURA. I have told you that my friend related it to me. DON GONZALO. And my cousin to me. [_Aside._] This woman is Laura. What a strange fate has brought us together again. DOÑA LAURA [_aside_]. He does not suspect who I am. Why tell him? Let him preserve his illusion. DON GONZALO [_aside_]. She does not suspect she is talking to her old lover. How can she? I will not reveal my identity. DOÑA LAURA. And was it you, by chance, who advised your cousin to forget Laura? DON GONZALO. Why, my cousin never forgot her for one instant. DOÑA LAURA. How do you account, then, for his conduct? DON GONZALO. I will explain. The young man first took refuge in my house, fearful of the consequences of his duel with that man, so much beloved in that locality. From my home he went to Seville, then came to Madrid. He wrote to Laura many letters, some in verse. But, undoubtedly, they were intercepted by her parents, for she never answered them. Gonzalo then, in despair, and believing his loved one lost to him forever, joined the army, went to Africa, and there, in a trench, met a glorious death, grasping the flag of Spain and repeating the name of his beloved--Laura--Laura--Laura. DOÑA LAURA [_aside_]. What an atrocious lie! DON GONZALO [_aside_]. I could not have killed myself in a more glorious manner. DOÑA LAURA. Such a calamity must have caused you the greatest sorrow. DON GONZALO. Yes, indeed, Señora. As great as if it were a brother. I presume though, that on the contrary, Laura in a short time was chasing butterflies in her garden, indifferent to everything. DOÑA LAURA. No, Señor, no indeed. DON GONZALO. It is usually a woman's way.