_Don C._ Halloo! good evening, Don Hypolito. _Hyp._ And a good evening to my friend Don Carlos. Some lucky star has led my steps this way. I was in search of you. _Don C._ Command me always. _Hyp._ Do you remember, in Quevedo’s dreams, The miser who, upon the day of judgment, Asks if his money-bags have risen? _Don C._ I do: But what of that? _Hyp._ I am that wretched man. _Don C._ You mean to tell me yours have risen empty? _Hyp._ And amen! said the Cid Campeador. _Don C._ Pray, how much need you? _Hyp._ Some half dozen ounces, Which with due interest— _Don C._ (_giving his purse._) What, am I a Jew To put my moneys out at usury? Here is my purse. _Hyp._ Thank you. A pretty purse, Made by the hand of some fair Madrileña; Perhaps a keep-sake. _Don C._ No, ’tis at your service. _Hyp._ Thank you again. Lie there, good Saint Chrysostom, And with thy golden mouth remind me often I am the debtor of my friend. _Don C._ But tell me, Come you to-day from Alcalá? _Hyp._ This moment. _Don C._ And pray, how fares the brave Victorian? _Hyp._ Indifferent well; that is to say, not well. He is in love. _Don C._ And is it faring ill To be in love? _Hyp._ In his case very ill. _Don C._ Why so? _Hyp._ For many reasons. First and foremost Because he is in love with an ideal; A creature of his own imagination; A child of air; on echo of his heart; And like a lily on a river floating She floats upon the river of his thoughts! _Don C._ A common case with poets. But who is This floating lily? For in fine, some woman, Some living woman—not a mere ideal, Must wear the outward semblance of his thought. Who is it? Speak! _Hyp._ Who do you think it is? _Don C._ His cousin Violante. _Hyp._ Guess again. To ease his laboring heart, in the last storm He threw her overboard with all her ingots. _Don C._ I cannot guess; so tell me who it is. _Hyp._ Not I. _Don C._ Why not? _Hyp._ (_mysteriously._) Why? Because Mari Franca Was married four leagues out of Salamanca! _Don C._ Jesting aside, who is it? _Hyp._ Preciosa! _Don C._ Impossible! The Count of Lara tells me She is not virtuous. _Hyp._ Did I say she was? The Roman Emperor Claudius had a wife Whose name was Messalina, as I think; Valeria Messalina was her name. But hist! I see him yonder through the trees, Walking as in a dream. _Don C._ He comes this way. _Hyp._ It has been truly said by some wise man That money, grief and love cannot be hidden. Pray stand this way, and let the dreamer pass. (_Enter Victorian in front._) _Vic._ Where’er thy step has passed is holy ground! These groves are sacred! I behold thee walking