_Lara._ It was a dull affair. One of those comedies in which you see, As Lopè says, the history of the world Brought down from Genesis to the day of judgment. There were three duels in the first tornada, Three gentlemen receiving deadly wounds, Laying their hands upon their hearts and saying _O I am dead!_ A lover in a closet, An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, A Doña Inez with a black mantilla Followed at twilight by an unknown lover, Who looks intently where he knows she is not! _Don Carlos._ Of course the Preciosa danced to-night? _Lara._ And ne’er danced better. Every footstep fell As lightly as a sunbeam on the water. I think the girl extremely beautiful. _Don Carlos._ Almost beyond the privilege of woman! I saw her in the Prado yesterday. Her step was royal—queen-like—and her face As beauteous as a saint’s in Paradise. _Lara._ May not a saint fall from her Paradise, And be no more a saint? _Don Carlos._ Why do you ask? _Lara._ Because ’tis whispered that this angel fell; And though she is a virgin outwardly, Within she is a sinner; like those panels Or doors and altar-pieces, the old monks Painted in convents, with the Virgin Mary On the outside, and on the inside Venus! _Don Carlos._ Nay, nay! you do her wrong. _Lara._ Ah! say you so? _Don Carlos._ She is as virtuous as she is fair; A very modest girl, and still a maid. _Lara._ You are too credulous. Would you persuade me That a mere dancing girl, who shows herself Nightly, half-naked, on the stage for money, And with voluptuous motions fires the blood Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held A model for her virtue? _Don Carlos._ You forget That she’s a gipsy girl. _Lara._ And therefore won The easier. _Don Carlos._ Nay, not to be won at all! The only virtue that a gipsy prizes Is chastity. That is her only virtue. Dearer than life she holds it. I remember A gipsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd, Whose craft was to betray the young and fair; And yet this woman was above all bribes. And when a noble lord, touched by her beauty, The wild and wizard beauty of her race, Offered her gold to be what she made others, She turned upon him, with a look of scorn, And smote him in the face! _Lara._ Most virtuous gipsy! _Don Carlos._ Nay, do not mock me. I would fain believe That woman, in her deepest degradation, Holds something sacred, something undefiled, Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature, And, like the diamond in the dark, retains Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light! _Lara._ Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold. _Don Carlos._ (_rising._) You will not be persuaded! _Lara._ Yes; persuade me. _Don Carlos._ No one so deaf as he who will not hear!