The feeling of the breeze upon my face— The feeling of the turf beneath my feet, And no walls but the far-off mountain tops. Then I am free and strong—once more myself: Beltram Cruzado—Count of the Calés! _Pre._ God speed thee on thy march—I cannot go. _Cruz._ Not go!—thou shall go! or, remaining here, Purchase thy freedom with red gold. Mark that! I will return to-morrow. Until then Reflect on what I say. Thou knowest me— Take heed. [_Exit._ _Pre._ Alas! of what shall I take heed? I have a strange misgiving in my heart! But that one deed of charity I’ll do, Befall what may; they cannot take that from me. [_Exit._ Scene II.—_A room in the Archbishop’s Palace. The Archbishop and a Cardinal seated._ _Arch._ Knowing how near it touched the public morals, And that our age is grown corrupt and rotten By such excesses, we have sent to Rome, Beseeching that his Holiness would aid In curing the gross surfeit of the time, By seasonable stop put here in Spain To bull-fights and lewd dances on the stage. All this you know. _Car._ Know and approve. _Arch._ And farther, That by a mandate from his Holiness The first have been suppressed. _Car._ I trust forever. It was a cruel sport. _Arch._ A barbarous pastime, Disgraceful to the land that calls itself Most Catholic and Christian. _Car._ Yet the people Murmur at this; and if the public dances Should be condemn’d upon too slight occasion, Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure. As _Panem et Circenses_ was the cry Among the Roman populace of old, So _Pan y Toros_ is the cry in Spain. Hence I would act advisedly herein; And therefore have induced your grace to see These national dances, ere we interdict them. _Enter a Servant._ _Servant._ The dancing girl, and with her the musicians Your grace was pleased to order, wait without. _Arch._ Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold In what angelic yet voluptuous shape The devil came to tempt Saint Anthony. _Enter Preciosa, with a mantilla thrown over her head. She advances slowly, in a modest, half-timid attitude._